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celluloidbroomcloset · 6 months

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I was thinking about the idea that homophobia doesn't exist in the world of Our Flag Means Death. I think it's clear that this is not the case, but it is a more complicated issue than what we think of when we discuss straightforward homophobia, and is closely aligned with how the different worlds represented in the show perceive sex, love, and desire.

(Before I get going, I want to be clear that I'm discussing the world of the show itself, not the world of the historical Caribbean in the 18th Century. Our Flag Means Death primarily uses history as a useful lens through which to filter our own time period and the things it wants to discuss, and so only uses history when it serves the show's purposes. These are all just my thoughts - I'm always happy to discuss them!)

There are two major worlds at play in the show: the English gentry that Stede comes from, and the pirate world. In neither world is homosexuality explicitly treated as illicit or unacceptable, though it is never mentioned or shown in the English world. Most of the homophobia expressed by characters lies in the perceptions of the "right" and "wrong" ways of performing gender and sexual roles. I talked about this a bit here in regards to Izzy's homophobia.

In both the English and the pirate worlds, Stede's gender presentation is openly questioned. Stede is a fop - not necessarily a sexual marker one way or the other - but he's also, in the words of the show, soft. His father labels him a "weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy" who has never done a "man's work," blanches at the sight of blood, and is only inheriting his power from better, more masculine men.

Within the world of the show, Stede occupies a role typically reserved for female characters, in which he's sold in marriage to build his family's wealth. His romantic desire to marry for love is knocked down; it doesn't matter if he loves Mary or she loves him, or if there is even any desire on either side, because the whole point is to unite their wealth and produce heirs to carry on that wealth.

In Stede's memories, the shift from getting married to having children is instantaneous. Sex is implied, but it barely exists for him - it was simply something that he had to do to fulfill his part. Again, this casts Stede in a role often reserved for female characters in fiction. The function of sex, in the English world, is procreation. Desire hardly enters into it, and love certainly doesn't. So it is likely that Stede's only sexual experiences are ones without desire and without love. They are simply to fulfill a function.

Pirate society is significantly more open when it comes to expression of sexuality, but it is still steeped in sexual roles and requirements. Stede's outward queerness marks him out, but it's his inward queerness and how that integrates his emotional core that makes him unacceptable within the masculine hierarchy represented by Izzy and Calico Jack.

I've gone into Izzy's toxic masculinity and hatred of Stede's gender presentation elsewhere, but to reiterate briefly - Izzy's biggest problem with Stede is that Stede does not occupy the correct gender role within the masculine hierarchy, nor does he occupy a properly defined sexual role. He is, in Izzy's view, supposed to be submissive to a dominant male, and he's anything but. He breaks the rules of piracy and he breaks the rules of masculinity, without seeming to be aware that there are rules to break (at least in the pirate world). Stede is "wrong" in Izzy's understanding of masculinity and homosexuality, just as he is wrong in the Badmintons'/his father's understanding.

It is Stede's breaking of those rules that attract Ed to him in the first place. He doesn't act like a pirate should. He's strange. He's off-script. He's...queer. That queerness draws Ed in - far from being repelled by it, as Izzy thinks he should be, he's fascinated by it. Stede's softness and gentleness are things that Blackbeard should either reject or attempt to dominate, and he does neither.

What comes out in Stede and Ed's interactions is that Ed himself doesn't just desire softness, but is soft himself. Beneath the masculinity he puts on, he wants to be touched with kindness, he wants to be embraced. One of Stede's first questions is if he "fancies a fine fabric." When Ed says he does, Stede doesn't laugh at him or view this as un-masculine. He shows Ed as many fine fabrics as he can, excited to finally have another man with whom to exchange this love.

Ed also wants to be submissive without being hurt. He gets Stede to stab him in a performance of sex, but the act implies even more than that - that sex and pain are closely related in the pirate world, tied to sexual roles (men who penetrated and men who are penetrated). But Stede, once more, is a gentle man who penetrates. He doesn't see the stabbing as a sexual act, nor does he get a sexual thrill from causing Ed pain. Ed submits to a man who cares that he's being hurt, and it is this softness that Ed wants and is, as yet, unable to ask for.

(It is notable that, when Ed recalls the stabbing in "Fun and Games," his main memory is of Stede's look of concern.)

The role of sex, love, and desire in the pirate world is made clearest with Calico Jack, far and away the most explicit representation of a pirate's toxic masculinity, who also highlights the reading of sex as about power and pain, not love. Calico Jack and Stede's conversation is the first time that sexual relationships between men is actually raised, in explicit and vulgar terms as Jack asks Stede if he and Ed are "buggering each other" and tells Stede "Blackie and I have had our dalliances."

Jack views Stede's response as being ashamed, but we see clearly that it's not shame but anger. Stede doesn't like who Ed is with Jack, and he doesn't like Jack's vulgarity, simplifying sex, and especially sex with Edward Teach, down to pure functions, not expressive of love or desire, just as they are in the English world. Jack's attitude that this is simply what men do to (not even with) other men when they are at sea, and he's proving his dominance by telling Stede that he's done it with Ed.

Stede is not ashamed at the assumption that he and Ed are having sex, but angry at the implication that sex between them would be "buggery" and "dalliance," not love (and, what's more, that Ed would be treated as a thing instead of a person by another man).

Stede's queerness is part of his emotional core - it is not a whim. It is not something he can discard or mask, regardless of how he dresses or behaves. It is not something that just "goes at sea," or that can be reduced to functions. It is integral to himself, and so he's been completely unable to conceal it from being perceived in either the English or the pirate world, though he has tried very hard to conceal it from himself.

Ed has also tried to conceal the emotional reality of his queerness via his performance as Blackbeard, turning it outward as violent games between men, without softer emotions. It is with Stede that his own emotional core is revealed, and the big mean pirate is shown to be a man who wants to be held and touched, to be submissive without being shamed or harmed.

They allow each other to be vulnerable, to move beyond their worlds' insistence on sex as being purely a function and to unite it with love and desire. Their romance develops out of friendship and a powerful emotional understanding that claims softness as strength.

Neither Stede nor Ed are acceptable in worlds dominated by toxic masculinity and controlled by rules of masculine hierarchy and power. But they are acceptable on the Revenge, filled with a crew of the "worst pirates in the world," all of whom openly, and increasingly, express fluid gender and sexual roles and identities that shift with relationships and feelings. Both are aligned with the queer liberation of the Revenge, itself shaped by Stede's ethos of kindness and breaking the "culture of violence" of piracy, but they have to break out of their worlds' underlying homophobia to find their way to each other.

#ofmd #ofmd season 1 #stede bonnet #edward teach #ed teach #gif #ofmd meta #our flag means death #queer liberation #rhys darby #taika waititi #my wee thoughts #long post

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selfharmaggeddon · 25 days

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Finally! Some story!!! God!!!

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humming-fly · 2 months

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Happy to report I have finally started listening to Malevolent and to no one's surprise I am already obsessed (I'm almost done with s2 atm please don't send me spoilers yet sdlkfj)

I'll skip over my usual formality of having one normal art post before diving into shitposts let's not waste anyone's time here

#to no one's surprise the body-sharing eldrich horror buddy comedy is right up my alley #this one's been on my 'to listen' list for a long while but the stars finally aligned to make it happen #okay time to figure out how to tag this uhhh #malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #john doe #i will probably change how i draw arthur a Lot as this goes on lol but enjoy these early drafts #unlike him I had a good idea how I wanted to draw john from the get-go #though the scrawling chaotic scribbles are actually a bit tedious to do in cleaner art #the pencil comic at the end is about the easiest way to do it he's just a bit more formless there #which is only really confusing when I also want to draw the hand like in the first shitpost #if i draw anything for s2 i'll update him a wee bit though probably pretty easy to guess what #i'll be playin with it i'm sure #idfk what tags people use for these i'm not allowed to search the tag till i'm caught up #so for now these'll work!#shorthand i'll probs just use #mp #pretty sure i haven't used that before #probably #my art #doodles #comic

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mistercrowbar · 1 month

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Aldiirn + haircuts

#bg3 #c:aldiirn #sketch #crowbart #i'm not sure if it ever really got easier for him #i think a lot of feels he wasn't able to process at 17 came out at 31 lmao #and then it got a wee bit easier #but only a wee bit #cries that 7ft long real hair wigs just dont exist

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kingkatsuki · 7 months

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More fic ideas that I have absolutely no intention of writing.

Knight Bakugou who’s positioned to guard you. The King wants the best to protect his Princess, and Bakugou is the best. Besides, it’s not like the man had a choice, he doesn’t want to lose his job— or his life.

You hate to admit that Bakugou is good at his job, much better than the men that had tried to guard you before. Making it difficult for you to sneak out into the gardens in the evening to watch the stars, or to sneak into town for the weekend festivities.

You should hate him for ruining the routine you’d managed to work yourself into over the years, for stealing away the freedom that you’d rewarded yourself when no one else would offer you the same luxury. But somehow you can’t force yourself to dislike him, there’s something behind his cold and brash personality that has you inquisitive to find out more. Enjoying trying your best to rile him up or push his buttons— spilling your evening tea over his pristine boots, or dropping your towel in front of him when you prepare for your evening bath.

Knight Bakugou knows exactly what you’re trying to do, and he’s determined he won’t fall for your tricks— which is why he’s just as surprised as you are when he finds himself outside with you past curfew in the castle grounds watching the stars. But instead of staring up at the gorgeous night sky, he finds himself turning his head to the side to see how the moonlight glows against your skin. It’s just another thing that has now woven its way into your daily routine together, and as he walks you back to your quarters each night you like to fool yourself that it’s because he wants to, not because his life depends on it.

It isn’t long before the King begins to bring in suitors from neighbouring towns to vie for your hand in marriage. None of which are out of love, but a necessity to strengthen alliances between armies. Which is why it doesn’t matter if you even like any of them, because the choice won’t be yours. The men are scheduled to fight for your hand, and as you sit and wait for them to joust you notice Bakugou clad in full metal armour across the field.

The King positioned him as his strongest guard— because he is.

A man worthy enough to beat his strongest soldier is a man worthy enough to take his daughters hand in marriage. And yet as you watch every man come head to head with Bakugou he beats every single one.

And you think Bakugou has just beat these men because he wants to show how strong and powerful he is, but secretly it’s because he’s so in love with you.

You can’t tell whether your father is proud or annoyed at the fact, especially when Bakugou knocks the son, young Midoriya, off his horse. The man that you believed the King wanted to you marry, the most suitable alliance available.

It’s a few weeks later when Bakugou is sent away on a mission by the King. The head of an army sent out to pillage a neighbouring village who threaten to compromise the power of you’ve forged.

The morning he’s scheduled to leave is the first time he lets you kiss him, he lets you get that close. As though he’s wondering whether he’ll even return home himself. Standing in his quarters in the lower part of the castle, clad in your pyjamas and your feet freezing against the cold stone as he cradles you in his arms. Pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss as he finally allows himself to have you, even if just for a few selfish moments. Bakugou reckons it’s worth the risk of dying, to feel your lips on his again. A fellow guard, Kirishima catches you both as he takes Bakugou away from you— watching them ride off on horseback as you still feel the warmth of him surrounding you.

You stay awake each night wondering whether he’s even still alive too— whether you’ll ever see him again. The new guards are just as useless as before and you find yourself longing for his safe return.

It’s two months before your father has another man lined up as a potential suitor. Wondering who might fight for your honour now that Bakugou is gone, but you’re shocked when the King says there’s no need for such friviolity. That the wedding is scheduled, and it’s the right reason to strengthen the Kingdom. It’s not for love, it could never be when your heart belongs to Bakugou.

And even if you told your father about your feelings for his guard, it would be issuing Bakugou his own death sentence if he even managed to make it home at all.

But fate really can be a cruel, fickle thing— and as fate would have it Bakugou returns home the day you’re standing at the altar wearing a pretty wedding dress like you’d dreamed about, while you’re waiting to be betrothed to another man.

#but can you imagine the LONGING #like I’d love this from Bakugous POV???#like imagine his thoughts when you drop your towel?!?! I’ll scream #and he wants to fight his feelings so bad #but when it comes to jousting he can’t help but jab the fuckers extra hard. knocking them off their horses and the wind out of them #and he starts thinking about how it would feel waking up beside you or plunging his cock into you #finds himself watching you in the wee hours when you’re fast asleep because it’s the only time he can look at you without you noticing #and it kills him to have to push you away when you try to kiss him and the hurt that flashes in your eyes #but he doesn’t want to die AND he doesn’t want to get you in trouble #because a life with you even if he can’t have you is better than not having you at all???#knight bakugou #soft bakugou

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bizarrelittlemew · 4 months

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The man with a hook for a head

#i got a request for roach's line here long ago but accidentally deleted it I'M SORRY kshdjsk but here it is!#ofmd #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #ofmdedit #ofmdsource #ofmd gifs #ida.stuff #ofmd 1x6 #stede bonnet #roach #wee john feeney #frenchie #i love this scene

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shady-tavern · 1 year

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Winter Star

Some children were born touched by nature, carrying the warmth of the sun, the brightness of spring and the gentle patience of the earth. They were rare, but everyone knew their stories and knew how wonderful they had been.

They knew about the girl touched by summer, who had been taken by a fae woman, the Stag Queen. There was the boy of autumn, who the stars had lured away, never to be seen again and a handful of others, whose fates had been the same.

One day, a girl came into this world with hair as white as snow, lashes like frost and skin as pale as the moon she was born beneath. Everyone who laid eyes on the babe knew immediately she was one of those special ones, beautiful as flowers in the middle of winter and as elegant as drifting snowflakes on cold winds.

Her parents worked hard to keep her safe and raise her to be kind and clever, spending much of their hard earned coin to dress her well and see her educated, knowing a great future would await her. So long as no one took her.

They warned her of the dangers of the world as she grew older, to mistrust strangers and duck out of sight should someone peer at their humble home. However, not even their best attempts to shield her from the world could stop the spreading rumors.

"She is as lovely as snow in the sun," the baker would tell anyone who'd visit his shop, proud of the special girl that grew up down the street of their cozy village.

"Do you know these wonderful early mornings where the light looks gold and pink and everything is so so beautiful it steals your breath away?" the cobbler would sigh dreamily to everyone who'd listen to her. "That's how it feels to look at her."

Soon people came to see the girl touched by winter, the one who was rumored to walk as though she was floating and she was said to possess such graceful manners it would make royalty turn green with envy.

People started to grace the steps of their home in growing numbers with gifts and sweet words carried on silver tongues. Hopeful fathers with curious and often infatuated sons, merchants who donned their finery in hopes of looking more enticing. The parents refused them all, citing that their daughter was still too young to chose.

It became a sort of contest amongst the curious and hopeful, to try and glimpse even a hair of the rumored maiden. Those who did manage to see her for just a moment left smiling dreamily and spreading ever more rumors.

The girl soon grew into a young woman and now her suitors were no longer just merchants and local business owners. Now she received letters and gifts from wealthy traders and even nobles.

One day, a messenger of the prince of their lands stood at their door, offering a chest of jewels and a richly embroidered dress deserving of a future queen. The young woman refused him gently and with kind words, as she had refused all other gifts.

Shortly afterwards, a holy knight asked for a moment of her time, offering his blessed castle to guard her from all evil and unbreakable vows of devotion. She gently and kindly refused him as well.

He vowed to win her heart and return with better offers just as the prince did, who would not give up so easily, soon sending another messenger.

She refused their gifts of riches and protection anew with a kind word, while her parents debated. Her mother, ever worried about her safety and wanting the best possible future, grew fond of the idea that her daughter might become a princess. One day even a queen. This would certainly be a dream come true for any parent.

Her father, pious and ever concerned about the magical dangers of the world, was particularly fond of the holy knight. He was rather taken with the idea that his daughter might one day live in a place no evil could reach while also receiving enough money to be comfortable.

"The prince is said to be a handsome, well mannered young man," her mother said while they baked for the harvest festival, autumn coloring the landscape outside. Winter was approaching and whenever it did their daughter seemed to grow all the more beautiful for it. "He would be good to you."

"The knight is strong and well versed in the dangers of the world," her father countered that evening, as he whittled and she embroidered the hem of a new dress with fine, delicate stitches. "He would keep you safe."

Soon the gifts changed from material goods to whatever strange and magical things her suitors could find. They hadn't given up on her yet, on winning the Winter Bride, as they started to call her.

"This owl loses gems whenever it shakes its wings," the prince's messenger said with a proud flush to his cheeks, as though he was courting the young woman himself, not his prince. The owl was a gorgeous animal, as frost colored as the young woman herself, housed in a small cage made of pure gold.

"His Highness says you may keep it," the messenger held the cage out, nose and forehead bitten red from the cold that had settled over the land. "So you may think of him whenever you look at it and your heart may grow as fond as his has grown of you."

The young woman accepted the cage with soft words and the messenger left grinning from ear to ear. Her parents were delighted, chattering about such a special gift while their daughter took the owl out the kitchen door to the backyard.

While her parents were busy discussing the merits of her becoming a princess, she opened the door of the cage and carefully helped the owl out.

"That's better, isn't it," she said softly as she watched the owl fluff up and shake its body in relief, gems falling from between its feathered wings. It turned its head to watch her for a long moment and she held her arm a little higher, uncaring that the talons of the owl left bleeding scratches along her arm.

"Go, if you wish," she told it with a smile as light as fresh snow. "Be free."

The owl gave her a regal nod and took off, disappearing swiftly. The young woman smiled, her heart glad and she returned inside to find her parents dismayed. They couldn't stay angry for long, however, sighing after scolding her for wasting such a precious gift.

Her father muttered afterwards that maybe the prince didn't know what a woman's heart truly wanted. Her mother, fiddling with the wool she was knitting socks out of, countered that he would find something to win their daughter's heart soon.

The holy knight arrived the next day with a cage woven out of brambles and he presented her with a snow-white fox with eyes of molten gold.

"This one will warn you of dangers and tell you if you are in the presence of evil minds," the knight offered, bowing deep as he held out the cage. "This is a mere gift, no strings attached. May it protect you in my absence and may you find you desire my presence instead one day."

The young woman took hold of the cage and as the knight left, her parents cheerfully discussed weaving a leash for the fox and where to keep it. Her father was nearly dancing with joy as he praised the knight for his thoughtfulness and what this in turn promised for their daughter's future.

The young woman smiled and left them to it, taking the fox out to the backyard. She ignored the way the brambles scratched up her hands as she unmade part of the cage and let the fox jump out, it's snout bloody from trying to bite its way to freedom.

"Go, if you wish," she told it with a smile as lovely as frost flowers. "Be free."

The fox bowed its head in gratitude and ran, swifter than any mere animal and it was soon gone with long strides that looked as though its body weighed no more than a feather. The young woman returned inside and once more her parents were quite upset at having lost such a precious gift.

They couldn't stay angry for long again however, and sighed. Her mother suggested the knight might need to choose his next gift more smartly, while her father grumbled that there must be something out in the world their daughter wanted.

"You must choose who to marry one day," her father told her gently, as though he could soften the order into a plea. "You must stay safe. I'm sure you'll chose well when the time comes."

He cast a significant look to the holy symbol over their hearth, while her mother nodded, tipping her head tellingly towards the small pouch holding the gems the owl had dropped.

The next day, after a night of the season's first snowfall, the young woman woke to find frost covering her windows entirely. It looked as though the snow had piled up all the way to the roof outside.

"I thank you," an ice wind whispered when she opened the windows to peer outside, a thick blanket of snow covering everything. "You returned my dearest friends to me after they were taken when I wasn't there. Two wishes I grant you for saving their lives, use them well."

She felt the magic settle over her as the wind finished blowing past and she couldn't help but peer out into the winter wonderland, as though she could catch a glimpse of whoever had spoken to her. It must have snowed very thickly that night to create that much snow, a quite unusual thing.

Seeing nothing and no one, she rubbed the frost off of the windows and went about her day, two wishes cradled close to her heart. They felt like a refreshing coolness within her, the way a bath in the river was revitalizing during hot summer days.

As winter settled over the land like a content cat in front of the fireplace, she received more gifts. A nightingale who sang so sweetly it made listeners cry, a white hare with fur so fine it was considered the softest in the world. She let each of them go and every time she opened a cage, she felt a change in the winds.

They grew colder each time that presence was back, the one she had felt during the first day of winter.

"Why do you not ask for anything?" the ice wind wondered one day after she unbridled a unicorn the holy knight had captured for her. It paused just long enough to press its velvet-soft nose against her cheek, thanking her silently, then it took off, trailing whispers of magic behind it. "Why not keep the wondrous ones you are offered so freely?"

"Would you like a cage?" she asked in return, watching in quiet awe as the unicorn disappeared. "Would you enjoy a leash or collar, to be bound to the whims and wills of those who hold you in their hands?"

"No," the wind answered in a solemn tone. "You are wise and kind, not many would do as you do."

Maybe, maybe not. She had no way of knowing, having never left the village. All she knew about the world were the things she had read in books she had managed to sneak away and what other people had told her.

She had found, however, that people tended to paint the world dark and evil whenever she listened, to warn her of its many dangers. To ensure she would not set a single foot into the forest, to ensure she would not walk beyond the village border, to ensure she would not chat with strangers the villagers hadn't vetted.

She still vividly remembered how panicked and worried her parents had been. How they had cried bitter tears when she had fallen asleep in their neighbor's hayloft, reading a book of fairy tales, and they hadn't been able to find her for hours.

"Good wind," she spoke up. "Might I bother you to tell me about the world? You must have seen much of it."

"I have," the wind answered. "Is that your first wish?"

She was quiet for a long moment, then she smiled. "A true story, every night for a year. That is my wish."

"I will bring cold with me whenever I visit," the wind warned her. "For I am ice and snow, frost and blizzard. I am winter itself. Are you certain?"

The young woman turned to look back at her humble, warm home and thought of her mother's beloved flowers and her father's meticulously tended herb bed.

"Two true stories every night for as long as this winter lasts," she amended. "Will you accept my wish?"

"I accept," Winter answered solemnly. "Light a candle at your window, when it is the only light that still burns in your home, I will come."

The wind blew away and the young woman returned inside, her parents sighing, rueful and exasperated as they accepted the bridle with gold decorations and spun out of enchanted silver thread.

"Always giving away what would enrich your life," her father grumbled, rubbing his forehead as though getting a headache. "But it's alright, if this is not what you want, surely someone will find a gift soon."

"Our beautiful, strange girl," her mother murmured fond and wry all at once, kissing her on her brow. "Will one of them ever make you happy one day?"

"We'll find the right one," her father said reassuringly, pulling them both into a hug. He turned to look at his daughter, "And we'll make sure you never have to fear being taken."

That night the young woman lit a candle and waited. She had almost fallen asleep when the window slipped open a crack and she felt icy winds brush through the room, trailing a handful of snowflakes in its wake. Immediately the windows frosted over to pure white and any warmth was gone between one breath and the next.

"A wish is a wish," Winter said. "And here are your stories, as promised."

Winter first told her a story of lands beyond the mountains, of tall cliffs and hardy forests. It told her of raging oceans that froze solid whenever autumn passed and the reindeers that thundered across it to different lands.

Winter was kind enough to answer any questions she had and she soon knew why the reindeers did what they did, how the ocean froze.

The second story was rather sad in her opinion, it was of two lovers who had run from an abusive father and a loveless marriage respectively. They had escaped into the night by the skin of their teeth and Winter told her of their journey through snow and ice. They lastly died, two miles from home, holding each other, smiles frozen unto their faces.

"Have many people died this way?" the young woman couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," Winter answered. "And many more will. The cold is no place for those who need warmth to live. Good night now, you who shines like a star, I shall see you again tomorrow."

She fell asleep to the soft whistle of air as Winter left, gently pulling the window closed behind it. Her dreams were filled with wondrous sceneries and people wandering through a snowy forest, away from their warm and yet unsafe homes.

The young woman soon looked forward to Winter's visits the most, eagerly going to sleep each night and secretly she hoped this winter might last just a little longer. The prince and holy knight, as well as many of her other more persistent suitors were quickly forgotten when confronted with stories of the world at large.

And finally she got to know what the world truly was. It was indeed dangerous, but it was also incredibly wonderful. Every story filled her with wonder and longing, chasing away the wariness her parents had painstakingly instilled within her.

The young woman felt as though she had forced herself to be a frozen lake all her life, still and quiet and unmoving, never leaving and never changing. Now, however, it felt as though the thrum of reindeer hooves had made the ice tremble and with each story she wanted more.

With each story she felt her childhood dreams emerge, that deep seated adventurous spark she had smothered upon seeing her parents' tearstained, panicked faces. She had loved them too much to cause them grief and so she had made sure to be obedient and sweet at all times.

She also hadn't wanted to be taken away, to live a horrible life and to never see her parents again. She hadn't wanted to upset them and make them cry or discuss strategies to keep her safe until late at night.

But deep down, beneath the stillness she forced upon her soul, she had never quite stopped looking beyond what she knew. To peer towards the woods and wonder what laid there, to watch travelers and dream of the lands they must have seen.

"Thank you," she murmured as Winter left, sleep rising to claim her. "You're the only one who doesn't tell me everyone wants to hurt me."

Winter was silent, the window cracked still and she wasn't sure if she imagined it or not, but it almost sounded as though they said, "You can count on my aid for as long as I am here, should you need it."

She smiled and felt the furs she had started to take to bed being pulled up to her chin by what seemed to be hands. She was asleep the next moment, unable to open her eyes once more and check.

Winter soon had to move on, however and she mournfully said goodbye to her new friend.

"If you wish it, I can ask my friends to visit," Winter offered on the last day, only snowy slush remaining on the ground and water dripping off of trees. The only spot where there was still true cold was where the wind blew and she swore she could almost make out a shape as it moved. "They could tell you about things I have not seen."

"Then let this be my other wish," the young woman agreed, a glad smile brightening her face. "I would happily welcome the company."

"A wish spoken is a wish granted." She felt cold brush past her cheek, almost like a caress. "I will see you again soon," Winter promised. "If you wish."

"Oh, I very much wish so," she reassured them, reaching out to find invisible strands of wind weaving around her fingers, cold gently brushing her skin. "Will I ever see you in full?"

"Maybe one day." With those words Winter left, trailing the last bit of ice of the year in their wake.

And as promised, the young woman wasn't without company. Spring spoke to her through blooming flowers and invited her to playful dances in moonlight by luring her out the window, promising to look after her.

"There is no joy in never getting to laugh," Spring told her, a grin bright in that sweet, often mischievous voice. "Come, jump and let me catch you!"

Spring was bright and joyful and taught her much about the world. It told her of large meadows that bloomed so brightly one saw only color as far as the eye could see. It told her funny stories of silly animal antics and where it could find acorns and seeds buried in the ground to be raised up into new plants.

The knight and prince were still persistent, hoping to win her heart with more magical creatures and even a few enchanted items, which the young woman refused. She had no need for a necklace that made her sing like a siren nor for bracelets that teleported her to the knight's side in case of danger.

After spring came summer, full of warmth and sweetness. Summer winds encouraged the young woman to walk barefoot outside, to turn her face into the winds and smell all the scents that could be brought over. To dare and set foot into the forests to find the most wonderful berries to pick and to watch deer graze peacefully.

Her parents never knew, she made sure not to worry them, but with each day, with each thing she did, she felt her heart grow. And with it, her yearning for more. To see the places she had been told of, to hear the sound of the ocean and smell a valley of flowers.

The prince and knight started to grow impatient, wondering what it took to make her their bride. They became more insistent, their words losing their sweet tone bit by bit.

"You're not getting any younger my dear," the baker told her when she came to pick up bread, her pale dress making her look like a walking piece of winter in the middle of summer. "They're soon going to change their minds and then where will you be? Filled with regret. So take an old man's advice and be smart."

"Surely one has made you fall in love, either with them or their riches," the cobbler said as she passed by. "You should let them know and arrange a wedding. We're all looking forward to the festivities."

She had no idea how to tell them that she hadn't chosen any of her suitors, that none of them had won her heart. Not with coin and not with living beings caged and collared. How could she have kept a single one of them, or fallen in love for that matter, if she felt trapped herself?

A comfortable, pretty cage made by loving parents, the bars wrought out of worry and kindness, but a cage nonetheless. And they were seeking to put her in another one, bigger and prettier, but just as locked up tight. All in the name of safety. All so they could have the winter girl and not someone else.

The young woman wondered if such a thing must be necessary. If there was a way to live free without fear. Surely there must be one.

She asked Autumn, for Summer had left before she could put her feelings properly into words. Autumn was busy as a bee, zipping from place to place to ensure harvest would be done in time, talking so fast she sometimes couldn't quite follow entirely.

"Of course you can go wherever you want," Autumn said while rustling leaves artfully, only to change its mind a moment later and turn it into cheerful chaos. "There, that's better. Winter Star, you are indeed unusual, that is true, but that is nothing bad. You can always call on us if you find yourself in trouble you can't solve alone."

"Are you certain?" she hadn't expected such an offer. The seasons had come in response to Winter's wish, after all. Autumn laughed, the leaves rustling around them, some more falling off trees.

"We have grown fond of you, worry not. Winter might have been able to ask us to say hello, but nothing beyond that." The winds tucked bright red and orange and yellow leaves into her hair until they looked like a messy crown. "Live, Winter Star. Life is too short to spend it cowering."

The young woman couldn't help but look past the village and to the forest beyond, the riot of colors autumn had brought and how it had even coaxed some trees into making their leaves especially pretty.

"Where do I go?" she couldn't help but ask, suddenly overwhelmed with all the options that seemed to lay themselves at her feet.

"Anywhere," Autumn answered with excited cheer. "Whenever you pack your bag to leave, you'll find that you have more friends than you thought and you will always find more. Go on, try it."

She couldn't simply up and disappear, of course. Not when it would ruin her parents. However, the next time she received gifts from the prince and knight, an idea sparked.

Autumn laughed when she talked about her plan and gladly agreed to help. Soon, gifts of a secret admirer appeared, promising all the things her parents were looking for. A home warded against evil, enough coin to keep their daughter happy and clothed and fed to the end of her days.

It took some finagling to make gifts for herself, but soon the young woman was caught by the idea of what made her happy. She gifted herself books and hardy boots and a bracelet made of colorful river stones. Her parents were befuddled at first, but seeing as she finally seemed to fall in love with someone, they were relieved.

The entire village spoke about it now, wondering who this mysterious stranger was and if they would get to meet them soon. The young woman made a marriage offer to herself and laughed when she accepted it in front of her parents.

"They will pick you up, won't they?" her mother fretted as she helped her pack. "I can't believe my little girl is getting married. We'll meet them soon, won't we? And don't you forget to invite us to the wedding."

"I'll be sure to visit," she promised and later asked Autumn for advice. "I can't just grab my things and leave like any old traveler, after all."

"Leave it to me," Autumn answered, before breezing away, muttering about stubborn berry bushes who really ought to know better by now.

A few days later, a young adult knocked at their door, dressed in fine autumn colored garb. They wore dark green breaches, earth-brown boots, a dark red tunic and a cloak of bright yellow wool, embroidered with dozens of fallen leaves in multiple colors. They bowed, hair windswept and eyes honey brown.

"It is an honor to meet you, I've come to pick up the young lady in the name of my master," the person said in Autumn's voice and when they met her gaze, they offered a quick little wink. The young woman couldn't help but grin, swiftly hiding it behind her hand when her parents glanced over.

"Oh, that is so lovely," her mother gasped when peeking outside and the young woman stepped forward to look as well.

Outside stood a gleaming carriage in gold and red-brown colors and it was pulled by none other than a unicorn. The very unicorn she had once freed. It looked at her, no bridle on its head and she felt as though it was smiling as it dipped its head a little.

The bags were swiftly loaded onto the carriage and a tearstained and heartfelt goodbye later, the young woman left for the first time in her life.

As soon as they were away from the village, she managed to clamber up onto the driver's seat to hug Autumn tight.

Autumn laughed, ruffling her snowy hair. "Now, you best learn how to drive because I do not have the time to take you anywhere, I still have to wrangle some lazy mushrooms."

After a quick couple of lessons, Autumn left, disappearing in a flurry of leaves and rustling clothes to continue on as it always did.

The young woman's heart was racing as she traveled on and on. Autumn visited often and in brief bursts, but soon the air grew colder and colder. The young woman felt excitement rise within her at the thought of Winter's return.

And then, one day, she felt ice winds brush past her. "I see you have found your freedom. I am glad."

"Welcome back," she breathed, her breath fogging in front of her. "I missed you."

Coldness that felt like fingertips brushed her hair back. "And I you. I am glad to see you well."

The young woman happily told Winter all about her plans, while Winter guided her to a place she could stay as it was too cold to travel. A cottage, recently abandoned, but it was easily made ready again. The young woman sold the carriage in a nearby town and the unicorn left after nuzzling her cheek.

She made sure to write home to her parents, while she explored the world around her temporary home with Winter often at her side. Sometimes Winter's other friends showed up, the fox hopping around playfully and the owl watching kindly from its perch in the trees. Winter told her stories all without prompting and showed her the hidden beauty of their season.

"If you wish, travel north," Winter told her as they laid together in the snow, watching bright, bright stars above them at night. "I will be able to show you dancing lights in the sky."

"Yes," she said and slowly, carefully, inched her hand across the space between them, until she felt that special kind of cold breeze. The wind slowly settled and she swore, from the corner of her eyes as long as she did not glance over, she could glimpse Winter's shape once more.

It was the best winter she had ever had and when it became clear her dearest companion would move on soon, she promised to meet the season halfway.

"Go north," Winter reminded her once more. "If you wish, I will wait for you."

She reached out and closed her eyes and this time she felt proper hands close around hers, though they weren't as icy as the blowing winds. Still cool, but she felt soft skin and elegant hands, the brush of a fur lined sleeve. "I will be there, I promise."

"Soon, then," Winter whispered, a smile in their voice, and she felt the brush of cool lips and a cold breath upon her cheek, smiling wide. When she opened her eyes again, she watched ice winds blow away, looking joyful as they trailed snow in their wake.

The young woman set out as Winter left, buying herself a horse and using the rest of the money from the carriage to have her things put in storage until she sent for them.

She left on her very first adventure, Spring urging her on, showing her the meadow of flowers and guiding her way across the land to where ocean waves lapped against fine-sand shores.

She got to meet and speak with many different people and sometimes Spring and later Summer warned her away from certain folks. But mostly, people did her no harm nor wished harm upon her. If anything, many approached her, concerned about her safety and offering to help her get where she wanted to go. She always declined kindly and smiled.

The young woman got to truly experience the world, listening to new music, visiting theatres when she came by cities and towns and eating food she had never dreamed of could exist.

She headed north at last, cutting her time with Summer short and meeting Autumn sooner. And then, the air grew cold and she felt a familiar, very dear presence.

"Hello," she said with a wide, happy smile appearing on her face. "I came, as promised."

"Let me show you everything," Winter breathed and there was excitement in that beloved voice. They traveled onward together and if the young woman tipped her head the right way, she saw Winter beside her, riding on a horse of snow and wind.

Soon she got to see the ocean frozen, as it had been in the very first true story she had ever heard. She watched reindeer trot across in big herds, holding out her hand and smiling when Winter took it, her heart so warm the cold around her might as well have stopped existing.

"Why chose me?" Winter asked as they settled down on a snow covered hill to watch the sun set. It looked truly beautiful. "There were many who tried to win your heart."

"But none understood it," she answered and when she looked up, she saw Winter truly for the first time, not as a season, but as the spirit it was.

Tall and slim, with hair as white as hers and eyes as dark as the frozen ocean. Ice earrings as blue as glaciers dangled from their ears and snowflakes were woven through their hair like the finest veil, ending in a crown of icicles. Clothes in white and light blue draped across their form, lined with fur and half covered in frost.

"Maybe I would have fallen in love with one of the others, had they not offered me another cage," she admitted, giving that cool hand in hers a gentle squeeze. "But instead of expensive gifts and captured magical beings, you gave me stories and shared your friends with me."

One of those slim hands rose to cup her cheek, feeling a little frosty but not stinging her with its coolness. "You shine so brightly, I would never think about forcing you to dim."

"Then you have your answer." She tipped her head into their hand, letting it cradle the side of her face. "I have an idea. Let's make this place our home, so I can be with you for many months."

"Yes," they answered, brushing a cold kiss against her forehead and she could feel them smile against her skin. "And the rest of the year you'll get to be the adventurer you always wanted to be, my star."

That did sound like the best future.

*.*.*

"They'll love you, I promise," the young woman said, giving Winter's hand a gentle squeeze. "They've been asking to meet you and when our wedding will be."

"They will know what I am the moment they see me," Winter sighed but followed her up the path to her parents' house. It was dark and thick snow covered everything.

"They will, but they will also see that you never took me they way they feared and that I am happy." She looked up at the love of her life, the one who loved her for who she was in return. "Trust me."

Winter softened and pulled to a stop in front of the door, cupping her cheek in one elegant hand and leaning down to brush the loveliest of kisses upon her lips. "Always, my star."

The young woman grinned, happy and bright, like ice in the sun and cheerful snowfall. Then she raised her hand and knocked.

*.*.*

If you want to read more stories and support me at the same time, please consider checking out my Patreon! Where I post monthly, exclusive short stories, which helps pay the bills and frees up more time for writing!

#my writing #short story #winter #just me writing stuff again #original writing #I hope someone enjoys this story!#i had a lot of fun writing it #and I wanted to do something winter themed #there might be typos I overlooked #can't think of anything else to tag #I just wanted something soft and sweet with a bit of a fairy tale vibe #fantasy #again this got a wee bit long #what else is new tho when it comes to me #monster lover #in a way

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daikon-dimes · 3 months

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All of that just for the sketchbook to have been under his pillow

#lego monkie kid #lmk red son #red son #red boy #hong hai'er #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #lmk mei #lmk au #long xiaojiao #sealed red au #his clones can’t just be THAT unhinged if MK isnt a wee bit unhinged himself

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synphonis · 3 months

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Still trying to figure out how to sketch Kieran in a way comfortable for me 🥲

#pokemon scarlet violet #kieran #スグリ #teal mask #pokemon #sketch #my art #even though pokemon has been my comfort since I was a wee baby its essentially very different from what im used to drawing F #gonna try practicing a lil more because ma n ive been in too long of an art rut #wanna learn how to draw blorbos more #not the biggest fan of how he looked in my previous post ; 7 ;

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mel-kusanagi · 5 months

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my pen took over :P

#ZOO WEE MAMA-#feels good to be back #idk how long this will finish but i will finish it #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #dracule mihawk #mihawk x shanks #mishanks #one piece #wip #my art

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celluloidbroomcloset · 6 months

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The more I think about it, the more heartbreaking the line: "I forgive you, by the way. For sleeping with Doug."

First, Stede doesn't talk about sex. He's angered by Calico Jack's questions and insinuations, and he's very clear that "Ed's past is Ed's business." He seems to have zero issues with his crew doing whatever they like with whomever they like, but it's clear he's not participating or particularly talking about it with anyone. We know his married life is loveless, and that he's a closeted gay man who's in love with another man for the first time ever, so sex is a difficult topic for him.

And the one time he explicitly mentions sex, to his wife, is to drunkenly and resentfully forgive her for sleeping with another man. It's harsh, and not just because he's drunk—he emphasizes it. He breaks the statement into two sentences, so that she's very clear what he's forgiving her for. She even seems shocked by it—this isn't something he does. From what we see of their married life he's oblivious and distant and awkward, but he's not cruel.

The whole sequence from the art opening onward is juxtaposed against the Ed and Izzy scene where Izzy bullies Ed back into becoming Blackbeard and eventually the Kraken. So this sequence is Stede's "Kraken" moment, as the scene escalates from the embarrassing meanness at the art opening to the cruelty in private.

But Stede lives in a different world than Ed, and his society is shaped by "cutting remarks." Where pirate violence is physical, Stede's is mostly verbal. He knows how to use language against people; it has been done to him, and we see him do it to the French ship, to Izzy, and to Chauncey. He’s very emotionally attuned and he’s adept at getting the knife in when he wants to. He uses it carefully, though, usually in defense either of himself or someone he loves. But if he were to become a bully, he’d be horrific.

We never see Stede being deliberately vicious to someone who doesn’t deserve it, and he's being deliberately vicious to Mary, a woman as thoroughly trapped in that marriage as he is (even more so, because she has very limited options for escape). What we know, which Mary doesn't yet, is that his viciousness is coming from the ache of what he left behind.

Stede was able to try to reconcile his return as "doing his duty" for his family, and what he finds is that his family have moved on. Not only that, but the wife whom he was at least imprisoned with, who at least shared in some degree his discomfort and unhappiness and was obliged to make it work with him as far as they both could, has found the love and pleasure that he's denying himself. He's isolated in a way he wasn't before. He wants to isolate her again so that at least he still has some kind of companionship, even if it's just in suffering.

Mary's fears are clear. If Stede decides that she can’t be with Doug, he has a LOT of power to stop her. He’s a wealthy male landowner; he legally owns her and the children. He can ruin Doug and he can make her life hell. He legally and culturally has a lot of control over her sexuality. I don’t think for one minute that Mary ever feared Stede their entire life and she fears him now.

It is cruel, and it's not Mary's fault. Nor is this who Stede is, or who he wants to be, though it's clearly a sign of who he can become. Again, like the scene at the art gallery, the scene between them is important to develop how repression and self-loathing can warp a person, even someone as genuinely kind as Stede. He is so desperate to “do the right thing” that he’s twisting himself up into the very kind of man who has hurt him. And beneath it is the longing for Ed and the love and passion that he’s denied himself.

That this all pushes toward a breaking point where Stede and Mary are finally able to understand each other, and Stede is finally able to say that he's gay and he's in love with Ed, makes that moment much more powerful. Mary was perfectly ready to hate him and at least save herself, but she helps him find the words to express who he is and what he feels, and who he wants.

The poison turns into positivity.

#ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #mary bonnet #edward teach #ofmd meta #our flag means death season 1 #ofmd season 1 #gif #long post #my wee thoughts #would love to hear other people's as well #i like mary #i like the arc that they give her and how she's more than just a function of Stede's arc #i like that she helps him too #and he figures out to be the best husband he's capable of being for her

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hardly-an-escape · 8 months

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A Close Shave | Dream/Hob | 2150 words | Rated G

tags: retired!Dream, shaving, unmitigated yearning and longing, the pining is probably mutual but you only get Hob's POV

“Been meaning to ask," Hob says. "How are you feeling about... this?"

He gestures to his chin, the stubble there, and across the table, Dream slowly puts down his spoon. Even more slowly, he raises one hand to his own chin and runs the backs of his fingers along the newly-grown layer of hair there.

It’s been a little over a month, and by now Hob is used to the speed – or rather, lack thereof – with which Dream finds it necessary to live his freshly-human life. A month, since Dream had chosen to live, and chosen to live with Hob, taking over the spare room and filling it with books and soft cardigans and snacks as he learned his own likes and dislikes as Dream-the-human.

It still feels to Hob as though there’s a minor miracle sitting across the breakfast table, now thoughtfully fondling the brand-new beard on his chin.

“Ah,” Dream says eventually. “You mean this. The hair on my face. Yes, I have noticed it.”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before,” Hob says neutrally.

“I suppose I never felt the need to manifest one when I visited the Waking World,” Dream says. He returns most of his attention to his oatmeal. It still requires some concentration, to hold the spoon steady; to make sure it reaches his mouth without spilling. Hob watches for a moment, impressed all over again with Dream’s willingness to try.

“Does it bother you, having one now?” he asks.

“Why would it bother me? It is a part of my body, is it not?”

Hob, wisely, refrains from mentioning the other body parts and functions – the sunburn, the stubbed toe, the sensations of hunger and dizziness and nausea, the need for sleep and to relieve himself – which have bothered Dream an inordinate amount over the past four weeks.

“But do you like it?” Hob presses gently. “I mean, one of the great things about being human is that it’s pretty easy to change our looks, generally speaking. Maybe not as easy as just… manifesting. But still. You get to choose what you look like, whether it’s a beard or clean-shaven, or, or pink hair. Or anything. Infinite variety.”

Dream puts his spoon down again and brings both hands up to his face. His palms cup either side of his chin and his long, narrow fingers stroke gently, from the downy hairs peppering his cheekbones, down into the hollows of his cheeks (not quite as gaunt as they used to be, Hob notes with a swell of gratitude), and then along the line of his chin to where it ends in a devastating little point.

In the morning light, with his face framed by those artistic fingers and a look of such solemn concentration on his features, he looks like a statue; a religious icon, perhaps, contemplative and blessed. His eyes are closed and his rosebud of a mouth is very pink and very slightly open.

Hob has to dig his fingernails into his own thigh to stop himself from reaching out and running his own fingers down Dream’s cheek, or brushing his thumb along that unfairly soft-looking bottom lip.

“Hm,” Dream says finally. “I do not think I dislike the beard. But equally, I am not sure that I like it. I am not sure that my face… feels like me.”

“Well,” Hob says. “You can shave it off, if you want. See if you feel more like yourself. I can – I can help you. Obviously.”

Obviously. Obviously. He supposes it is obvious – it must be – how desperately he wants to help Dream. How abject his desire to make this fragile, human life a little more bearable, in any small way he can.

“Yes,” says Dream. “I would… like that. Thank you.”

Hob drags a kitchen chair into the bathroom. Digs out his softest hand towel and wets it with hot water before wrapping it carefully around Dream’s face and neck. He chatters idly as he gathers his supplies: random recollections about his favorite Turkish bath in London, which had gone out of business during the Great War, and the Russian steambaths and Finnish saunas he’s seen during his travels.

He doesn’t use his old straight razor much anymore, preferring a good reusable safety razor for himself when he’s going clean shaven, but he’s always found a well-honed, old-fashioned cutthroat to be more comfortable when shaving someone else. And he keeps his razors, like any tool, in good condition whether he’s using it regularly or not; the mother-of-pearl handle is clean and polished, the joint moves smoothly, and the blade gleams.

Dream watches through hooded eyes as Hob strops the razor and mixes up the suds of shaving foam. He loads up the soft bristle brush before removing the towel and making sure Dream is positioned in front of the mirror.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Hob says. “I’m going to start by just doing your neck and cheeks, clean up the edges a bit. You might like it more when it looks like an intentional beard, not just a couple weeks’ worth of shaggy growth. And if you’re still not feeling it, we’ll shave the rest. Sound okay?”

Dream nods, and Hob goes to work.

Touching Dream is – not difficult, not exactly. If anything, it’s too easy. Hob’s fingertips hunger for the soft brush of Dream’s skin, for the fluff of his dark hair, for his stubble and his slender hands and the little creases in the corners of his eyes. In those earliest mad days, when Dream hadn’t even been strong enough to walk on his own, Hob had manhandled him matter-of-factly. He’d helped him walk, and dress, and eat; taught him how the bathtub worked and washed his body, cheerfully ignoring the furious flush on Dream’s face at the indignity of needing to be cared for. They’d gotten through it.

He’s mature enough to admit to himself that he misses it, now that Dream has gained enough strength of body and mind to do it all for himself. There’s something so intimate about that contact with another person: about being needed in that particular intense way. It’s heady. The longing for it almost chokes him, sometimes, with how badly he wants it: to hoist Dream in his arms and cradle him against his chest. To wash his hair and rub him gently dry. To hold a cup of water or warm milk to those perfect lips.

But Hob, for all his faults, is trying so hard not to be an asshole these days. So he doesn’t touch Dream that way, now that it isn’t needed – now that he isn’t needed. No matter how much he might like to.

Until now.

Now, for just a moment, he lets himself indulge. Runs his hungry fingertips along the soft, vulnerable curves of Dream’s throat and the firmer lines of his jaw as he brushes on the shaving foam. Tips his head gently this way and that, revels guiltily in how biddable Dream is as he sits quietly in the chair.

Hob takes his time with the actual shaving, both out of caution (perhaps even a bit of terror, that he might inadvertently mark that precious skin) and out of a desire to linger over the experience for as long as he can get away with. Unfortunately, shaving just a person’s neck doesn’t really take that long, regardless of how carefully one does it. Within just a handful of minutes, he is carefully wiping the last spot of soap from the hollow of Dream’s throat and turning him fully toward the bathroom mirror.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He turns his head from side to side, surveying his reflection. Then he tilts his chin up and runs his fingers down the newly-soft skin of his neck. Hob’s fingertips tingle. He knows the sensation Dream is experiencing, knows it intimately: the smoothness of the hairless skin, the slight tackiness of the moisturizer. Knows it from his own face, and from the faces of lovers over the decades, and even from poor, long-dead Robyn’s face, when he’d taught his son to shave.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Dream meets his eye in the mirror.

“I think I would like to have the rest of it off,” he says. “If you would not mind…?”

“No problem,” says Hob softly.

They go through the whole ritual once more: the hot towel, mixing up the foam. Hob strops the razor again, just to be sure. This time he carefully rubs a little pre-shave oil into Dream’s beard to soften the hairs as much as possible, then covers his face with the thick foam.

“I don’t really know if the oil does much,” he admits, “but the last time I went for a proper shave at a barber’s, the bloke who did it swore by the stuff. I guess I’m a sucker for a good upsell. And it does smell nice.”

It takes much longer this time, of course. He finishes the first pass, wipes Dream’s face, lathers him again and goes for a second pass. He leaves Dream’s sideburns mostly alone, just taking them up enough to blend in with the hair falling shaggy over his ears – if Dream wants a haircut that will have to be another adventure, to a real barber or a salon, because Hob doesn’t trust himself with that kind of artistry, not where Dream is concerned.

He narrates as he goes, describing the best angle to hold the blade, how to gently pull the skin taut to avoid nicks, when to go with the grain of the hair and when to scrape against it. Reminiscing further on his favorite barbers and spas and on a broad history of facial hair and shaving. He is babbling a bit, he knows, but he tells himself it’s for educational purposes; that this kind of general knowledge could potentially serve Dream well as he navigates a new human life.

He’s certainly not talking in order to distract himself from the sensation of Dream’s skin and the soft sounds of Dream’s breath, or to stop himself from saying something much more revealing and embarrassing. Like how he wants to take care of Dream for the rest of time. Or how badly he wants to see if his skin is as soft all the way down as it is in the tender place just behind his ear. Or how fiercely grateful he is that Dream has chosen to live, to try, to be here, to sit in a kitchen chair and eat oatmeal, to sit in this bathroom and let Hob run his fingers down the line of his jaw, over and over, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of skin he’s allowed to touch as he runs the razor over the valleys of Dream’s cheeks.

He will never run out of words to say to Dream – or words he wishes he could say – but eventually he does run out of skin to shave. At his direction, Dream leans over the sink and rinses his face with cold water, then gently pats in aftershave while Hob meticulously dries his razor and clears away the shaving tackle.

Then it’s quiet in the little bathroom for a long, long moment while Dream reexamines his face in the mirror.

“Well?” Hob says eventually, so low it’s almost a whisper. He allows himself one last touch. Drops his hand onto Dream’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dream makes eye contact in the mirror, and Hob is shocked by a swift bolt of recognition. Here, in front of him, is Dream – his Stranger, his centennial mystery – so different, so human, and yet, suddenly, so familiar. It could almost be 1489 again, save the electric lighting; his hair is nearly long enough, and the imperious pout is back on his lips.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Hob, I –” he trails off. Breathes. “I am me.”

Hob squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course you are.”

“No, you misunderstand. I – I recognize myself,” Dream says, unconsciously echoing Hob’s thoughts. “I see a man, and he looks like me.” He meets Hob’s eye in the mirror once again. “I – thank you.”

Dream’s eyes are, unaccountably, welling up with tears, as beautiful and delicate as the rest of him. Hob does the only thing he can think to do, which is to drop his chin to Dream’s shoulder, lay his own hairy cheek alongside Dream’s newly-smooth, freshly-scented face, wrap his arms around Dream’s bony chest, and hold him.

One of Dream’s hands comes up and wraps itself around Hob’s wrist, and they stay that way for a long time: Dream in the kitchen chair, in front of the bathroom mirror, and Hob behind him, holding him, crouched somewhat uncomfortably, but exactly where he wants to be.

---

this has been languishing in my drafts for absolute ages and I wish it hadn't taken me so ding dang long but it is what it is || this two cakes situation is inspired by @watercubebee's art and dedicated to her and @valeriianz 🎂🎂 || art, Kris's ficlet (plus part two)

read on AO3 >>>

#hello I am once again posting barely edited fics in the wee hours AS IS MY WONT #do you know how long I've had a tab open with the wikihow article on shaving with a straight razor?? it's been WEEKS #someday I will improve on my current writing speed of twelve words per day smh #my writing #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling

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