#Interpersonal Dynamics

[serendipitysparks]

Personality Structure: Speed Racer's personality can be analyzed through the lens of Sigmund Freud’s structural model of the psyche, comprising the id, ego, and superego. Speed exhibits a pronounced tension between these three elements, manifesting in his decision-making, motivations, and interpersonal dynamics.

Id: Speed’s id is primarily focused on the immediate gratification of desires, particularly his passion for racing. This raw instinct manifests in his impulsivity and eagerness to win, sometimes overriding rational judgment.

Ego: His ego serves as the mediator between his primal desires (id) and his ethical values (superego). Speed’s ego strives to achieve his racing ambitions within socially acceptable bounds, though it is often tested by high-stakes scenarios that demand split-second decisions.

Superego: The superego in Speed is represented by his moral compass, which is influenced by his family, particularly his father. This ethical framework informs his sense of duty to help others and act with integrity, even when facing temptation or danger.

Cognitive and Emotional Drivers: Speed Racer exhibits a type of goal-directed behavior driven by what Abraham Maslow would categorize as self-actualization. His incessant drive to be the best racer is not solely motivated by external rewards (like money or fame), but by a deep, intrinsic need for personal growth and mastery in the field of racing.

Self-Determination Theory (Deci & Ryan) can be applied to Speed’s motivations. Speed’s intrinsic motivation to race aligns with the psychological needs for autonomy, competence, and relatedness. He seeks independence in his career and strives to develop his skillset to its utmost potential while maintaining close bonds with his family and friends.

Emotional Regulation: Speed’s emotional responses, especially during high-pressure races, are often regulated through adaptive coping strategies. However, his over-reliance on emotion-focused coping (avoiding the stressor or using emotional escape via racing) could also be seen as a mechanism of denial, especially when faced with moral or personal dilemmas.

Cognitive Biases and Perception: Speed’s decision-making is often influenced by cognitive biases. He exhibits optimism bias, wherein he consistently believes that despite the dangers, he can emerge victorious. This is reflective of his overconfidence bias, where he tends to overestimate his skills and the likelihood of success in high-risk situations.

Attribution Theory would suggest that Speed tends to attribute his successes to internal factors (his talent, determination, and intellect) but may blame external factors (such as sabotage or the environment) when things go wrong. This kind of self-serving bias reinforces his self-esteem and motivates his continued efforts to excel.

Interpersonal Dynamics: Speed’s relationships with his family, particularly with his father, are shaped by attachment theory. His bond with his father appears to be one of secure attachment, characterized by mutual trust, emotional closeness, and a shared sense of responsibility. Speed's protective instincts toward his younger brother and his loyalty to his friends also showcase prosocial behavior, which can be explained through social exchange theory—a model where relationships are often based on reciprocal benefits and trust.

Social Identity Theory (Tajfel & Turner) could also be applied here. Speed’s identification with the racing community provides a sense of belonging, and his desire to be recognized as the best within that community enhances his self-esteem.

Behavioral Tendencies and Coping Mechanisms: Speed’s behavior in high-stakes situations can be understood through Bandura’s social cognitive theory, particularly the concept of self-efficacy. His repeated victories boost his confidence, creating a positive feedback loop where his belief in his own abilities propels further success. However, this may also lead to overconfidence in some situations, potentially compromising his decision-making when faced with unfamiliar or unpredictable scenarios.

Speed’s reaction to stress and conflict often displays a form of resilience—the ability to bounce back from adversity. However, his tendency to become fixated on winning could be seen as an adaptive maladaptive coping strategy, particularly when it involves ignoring or dismissing the emotional needs of those around him, such as his family’s concerns for his safety.

Motivation and Desire for Achievement: Speed’s racing obsession might be explained via Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development, where Speed is navigating the identity vs. role confusion stage. He is determined to forge his own identity as a racer, yet struggles with balancing this with the role of a son and a brother, torn between his desires for personal success and his familial obligations. His internal conflict is driven by the pursuit of both achievement motivation and the desire to be perceived as a hero or role model.

[that-gay-jedi]

Dorian Gray in an Unjust World

The timing is bad (work, flare-up, life stuff, deadlines etc) but I need the thoughts I had on my last reread of The Picture of Dorian Gray off my chest.

Textually, Dorian's portrait is not alive. It may be an ever-updating record of Dorian's choices, analogous to what we now call a living document, but it's still an object. It's not a victim or even a witness, only a piece of evidence. He's done terrible things to so many people, but the portrait isn't one of them.

I can still read the book the way I first read it when I was much younger, when I went in already knowing to some extent the author's intent and what makes it a work of gothic horror.

Back then I knew that he wasn't writing about helplessness, but about a young man with agency choosing time and time again to make the most psychospiritually corrosive choices. Though the pain Dorian causes others is an important window into what is evil, ultimately it's a book about evil, not a book about pain. And it's a damn good book about evil.

Now, though. Now I have so much more experience with evil than I did when on my first read-through. Back then my one abusive parent was the only true horror I knew, but now I've seen the insides of so many caustic systems and rotten institutions and the people who collectively make them work that way. I've met dozens of Lord Henrys myself and probably read about another thousand or so in the news and the uncountable would-be Dorian Grays who channel them.

More importantly, I've seen the damage done, the pain that bears witness to evil. I've known the Sybil Vanes and Basil Hallwards of the world, and though I've seen plenty young and innocent in their graves just as in the book, I've seen so many more live to bear the emotional and psychosocial scars those wounds leave when they don't kill you.

And yes we're all a little bit Dorian, everyone's done something that would make their portrait sneer at some point, but we're all a bit Sybil too, injured by the wrongdoing of others. We're all a little bit Basil sitting in front of someone begging them to be better, to stop making choices that hurt others, and just like Basil more often than not all we'll get for our trouble is to be the next one hurt.

So on my latest reread, something sucker punched me: if the portrait had feelings, how much it would hate him for what's been done to it. And though the portrait doesn't have feelings, the real people Dorian makes an impact on bear his cruelties by proxy just as much as the portrait does.

Our most callous choices do not leave lasting marks on only our own selves. They do real and lasting harm to others: others' bodies and brains (which are really one and the same thing), others' hearts, others' lives. You can etch the lines into someone else's face or take the light of hope from their eyes without ever meeting or knowing them.

The supernatural forces which govern Dorian's portrait protect him from what he's doing to himself, but the emotional damage he inflicts on others is still visible in THEIR faces. He still leaves his mark on the world and on the people he's wronged.

We can almost draw a line through each of the characters from Henry down wherein each one's relative agency diminishes as their own goodness or innocence within the narrative increases.

1. Dorian had many, many choices, and with mildly coercive influence from Henry he made all the cruelest ones.

2. Alan (the chemist who helps Dorian conceal a murder) was blackmailed with a terrible fate, and he knowingly did an evil thing under duress.

3. Sybil's brother James didn't strictly NEED to swear revenge for what was done to his sister (indeed there's a lot of discussion about misogyny and the disposability of women who were seen as having "lost their virue" to be had, some of it potentially damning to James himself), but there was zero chance of anyone facing consequences for it any other way.

Just as we see so often in real life recorded history and in our own time, James' tale of revenge ends anticlimactically for him because he's a working class labourer, while Dorian's life takes the novel-worthy trajectory because he's of high enough social class for it to happen.

4. Sybil did nothing wrong, yet Dorian had the power to destroy her life, and he chose to use it. Her only share of agency was whether to live the life of suffering that remained to her or to die. Dorian may not have killed her with his own hands, but her suicide was a murder on many levels. Just as her brother could've been a protagonist in some other novel had he more status and means, she could've been a protagonist in some other story if her virginity weren't the sole cornerstone of her future.

4. Lastly, Basil actively tried to do the right thing, using what influence he might have had on Dorian to try to stem the flow of horrors, but was basically talking to a wall. Despite being of about the same social status as Dorian and Henry, Basil's voice had so much less impact on events than Henry's that you almost beg him to turn and run for his life instead.

The shock hit me the exact moment Basil asks Dorian to repent all he's done, because without realizing it, up until that point I'd been seeing myself as Dorian.

When I read Picture half my lifetime ago I did not put myself in any one character's shoes in particular, though at 16 I was perhaps even more egotistical than I might be now. The connection had nothing to do with seeing oneself as a main character or not; it was about seeing myself as having been warped by life.

"How can I repent sins that aren't mine?" I thought, and only then did I realize that wasn't a thought from the mind of Dorian, Alan, James, Sybil or Basil. I'd been seeing myself as living flesh and bone and brain that's been used the same way the portrait has.

Dorian's portrait ages prematurely from the choices he makes about his own body, but you don't have to be shallow or ageist to agree that it's ugly. Before any of the youth and conventional beauty captured there is ever diminished, the first change- the one that appears after his first cruel and selfish act- is to the expression he wears. The smile of a young man who hasn't yet crushed or destroyed anyone turns to the sadistic, leering grin of someone who has, and who leans into the power rather than into the potential for remorse.

The Machiavellian socialite of the portrait isn't me, but that sense of losing my innocence to someone else's choices is.

The parts of my personality that I find most unpleasant to look at- the tendency to take refuge in despair because hope is painful, the way I sometimes indulge in misanthropy so that the bitter truths of the world we live in can hurt just a tiny bit less to acknowledge- you can't cultivate those in a person who has as much power and privilege as Dorian Gray, but they have just as much potential to be used as justification for behaving in ways that protect or empower oneself at the cost of others. Simply having less access to the levers of power does not absolve us of our capacity for evil.

Maybe that's what Sybil Vane would look like if she'd lived to see her 30s, resentful and sad and, above all, defeated. Or if I'm being more honest about my place in the exploitative structures of colonialism wherein we live, maybe that stress-worn face of resentment and resignation in the mirror is akin to what Alan looks like after another ten years of desperately holding onto the secrecy that keeps him from being skewered by the deadly homophobic institutions of his time- bought at the price of complicity in murder.

The novel itself is the true portrait of Dorian- without seeing the lives of Basil, Sybil, James and Alan, we would have absolutely no way to understand the connection between the malevolent individual in the painting and the malevolent life this superficially beautiful boy has led. And in this way, each person he wronged is a reflection of his cruelty- a portrait of Dorian rather than of themselves.

[gynoidgearhead]

[Image caption: GIFs of Chris Pine saying: "There's this trope in literature that somehow we're not whole unless we have another. Personally, I think it's not fair to the uniqueness and wonderfulness of the individual. We can compliment one another greatly, but we are not the source of each other's happiness." End caption.]

Chris Pine refuses to answer the question “Would you swipe left or right for Anna Kendrick on Tinder?” and instead gives this response

[kree8r0]

What can you do if your husband's sister is a bully?

This post is a response to a question initially posed on Quora, and can also be accessed via “https://murkywatersnarcissist.quora.com/What-can-you-do-if-your-husbands-sister-is-a-bully-4“ Thank you for the a2a, Jozefina.I have to say, however, that I’m a little confused, not because Jenn wrote an excellent answer complete with all the steps to take in a strategic, deliberate, and rational…

[doubtful-player]

When Destruction Leads to Creation: Navigating Relationships and Setting Boundaries

Not a game review.

When does destruction equal creation?When is it necessary to destroy something to pave the way for something new?And does that change when it’s regarding relationships, be it romantic or friends? Food becomes spoiled, and can be used to turn into compost, which helps new plants to grow. Similarly to when the Native Americans would burn land, it would not only prevent forest fires from spreading,…

[thunkdeep]

Energy Vampire Alert: Is Someone Draining Your Vibe?

Feeling drained lately? 🚫🧛‍♂️ Dive into our latest post on Energy Vampires and learn how to keep your vibes up! #EnergyVampire #ProtectYourEnergy ➡️ thunkdeep.com

Alright, peep this. We all got that one homie or maybe even a family member, you feel me, that just steps into the room and it’s like somebody hit the mute button on all that good energy. Straight up, it’s like all the air got sucked out the place. That’s when you gotta wonder if this energy thing ain’t just some mumbo jumbo. Because c’mon, you know when something don’t line up right, like those…

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[dcdarkweek]

At the heart of all dark content is Interpersonal Dynamics. Today we investigate the immoral and, at times, indecent dynamics of interpersonal relationships. Unveil the internal quagmire of familial, fraternal and friendly connections, and examine exactly what unfolds behind closed doors.

Mind the tag “Interpersonal Dynamics” if you wish to avoid content for this prompt day.

[bixels]

Be honest, what are your thoughts on appledash? Do you hate it or its more of not a big deal

Not a big deal to me. I like it, I see all the appeals, I just personally like Rarijack more.

[kandadze]

Fangs of Fortune, ep 7

The impeccable "the aloof and the imp" dynamic. (I'd say "cat and dog," but ZYZ is already a monkey an ape... XD)

[fizzigigsimmer]

The group dynamics of Steve, Nancy, Jonathan and Billy in a better season 2, with the addition of Robin and Heather in season 3... y'all just don't understand how my soul mourns for this.

Billy would be the "leather jacket" guy of the group. The semi reformed bully whose still 'too cool for any of you', but since there are monsters to slay point me at em. But Robin would clock his desperate cries for Steve's attention so quick, and Heather would be the first to see past the facade and like truly give a shit about him.

Imagine Heather and Billy bonding over smokes in the locker room at the pool, and her warning him away from Karen because she knows all about the desperate housewives of Hawkins, and if he's looking to get creeped on by a woman old enough to be his mother he can just come to her house for dinner friday night. Her mom's a great cook and it will get her dad off her back about dating for awhile.

Imagine Billy and Nancy competing over grades and kinda just barely tolerating each other at first, but she is so confused because he and Jonathan seem to have found common ground and he's like low key the biggest champion of their relationship.

Imagine Eddie is the one who gets flayed and it's the teens who figure it out because Billy's obsessed over the fact that the only dealer in town just up and quit, and is acting like he had a full personality transplant. Yeah Eddie was a dork, but he had good weed okay and Billy needs his hits god damn it if he's supposed to keep his shit together about monsters and the end of the world with Neil breathing down his neck.

Imagine Steve Harrington's very first gay kiss being when he's taunting his rival/maybe friend, sometimes monster hunting partner Billy Hargrove with a joint he found stashed in his glove compartment and Billy shot guns him like it's nothing.

Imagine Nancy on her "I don't know, maybe it was Steve all along" bullshit in season 4, and Jonathan self sabotaging with everything he's got. And they're like in the upside down and Nancy is doing her thing making gooey eyes at Steve, wrapping his wounds and Billy just pops off out of nowhere, "Make sure she wraps those tight. You're topping tonight no excuses. Oh and stop being such a pussy Byers. Communicate with your girl."

Everyone's just like gobsmacked, bamboozeled, and Steve is just so embaressed, exasperated, but kinda happy too.

"Is this you communicating?"

Billy all sly, "We understand each other don't we?"

[kree8r0]

Should we care about others' feelings when being honest?

To be completely honest within this context, one must also be honest with one’s motivations for “being honest” in the first place. “Being honest” does not necessitate conveying any messages to anyone else. There is always a motivation for the information one shares. To “be honest,” one must be aware of why they are compelled to share that information and what they seek to accomplish by sharing…

[fantastic-nonsense]

oh my god all this time I believed that what fanon!Jason stans really wanted to read was Helena Bertinelli's books (because of all the relationships and interpersonal dynamics they keep stealing from her to project onto Jason) but what they actually should be reading are Catwoman books

Selina's the one who killed Black Mask and dismantled his operation after War Games. She's the one explicitly protecting the East End (aka Crime Alley) and going out of her way to protect the women and children of Gotham's underworld. She was the one doing mafia kingpin shit in the New 52 while Jason was off messing around in space with Dick's friends. She was the one protecting the Alleytown kids and trying to root out crime by "taking control" of it.

like Selina literally took over a crime family and united the criminal underworld in the New 52 while Jason was off fighting the All-Caste and Crux with Roy and Kory, I can't believe I didn't make the connection sooner

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[mermaids-ate-my-dinner]

Hot Take

Heros of Olympus would be so much better if everybody was single.

[thunkdeep]

The Science of Love: Navigating Relationships Through Experimentation

Join us on a journey through 'The Science of Love.' We explore the complex world of relationships through a unique blend of emotional intelligence and psychological experimentation, offering a fresh perspective on how we connect, bond, and navigate the...

Introduction: Welcome to ThinkTank Theorium’s latest deep dive: “The Science of Love.” Ever thought about love as an experiment? Yeah, you heard me right. We’re not just talking sweet nothings and candlelit dinners. We’re diving into how experimentation and a bit of psychological savvy can help us navigate the complex seas of relationships. So, strap in, and let’s explore the love lab, ThinkTank…