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hardly-an-escape · 11 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.

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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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the-scooby-gang · 2 years

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Welcome once again toooooo

Velma by Me!

Watch me rewrite this show one 3AM idea at a time

[Part 1]

Shaggy is now Brazilian because I said so! AFRO LATINOS FOR THE WIN!!!!!

They are friends your honor, the Velma show is lying to you

Toxic masculinity? Never heard of him and neither did Fred

#scooby gang #scooby doo #velma by me #hbo velma #velma the series #velma dinkley #fred jones #daphne blake #shaggy rogers #i watched it #character assassination the show #Points at Fred: Look at how they massacred my boy #that show has a mean spirit haunting the writing room #and a open tab with “meta quotes for dummies” in there too

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officialkendallroy · 4 months

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im sorry but this is insane to me like i get annotating a book i do it too sometimes but like this is crazy.... why are these people acting like emily henry is academic writing??? how long does it take them to do this???

#not even for my master thesis im reading texts like this #this also seems like so much effort to me. the underlining the marking the tabs everything #like i get writing annotations and maybe highlighting it but all this seems excessive

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waytooinvested · 4 months

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How it feels diving into the vast Supercorp tag on AO3 trying to decide what to read next. You're all just too good.

#supercorp #so many fics so little time #I want to read them all #I want to write more of my own #and reread the amazing ones I have already read #and also finish the brilliant partially read ones languishing accusingly in various open tabs #I am instead sitting here with my metaphorical fork hovering between so many plates #this is the downside (but mostly the massive up side) of such a huge fandom #I am used to SO much less choice than this...#help...

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cuties-in-codices · 10 months

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Where do you find these manuscripts? Is it like a website or do you find it randomly??

hey, thanks for the curiosity! lenghty answer below the cut :)

medieval manuscripts are typically owned by libraries and showcased on the library's websites. so one thing i do is i randomly browse those digitized manuscript collections (like the collections of the bavarian state library or the bodleian libraries, to name just two), which everybody can do for free without any special access. some digital collections provide more useful tools than others (like search functions, filters, annotations on each manuscript). if they don't, the process of wading through numerous non-illustrated manuscripts before i find an illustrated one at all can be quite tedious.

there are databases which help to navigate the vast sea of manuscripts. the one i couldn't live without personally use the most is called KdIH (Katalog der deutschsprachigen illustrierten Handschriften des Mittelalters). it's a project which aims to list all illustrated medieval manuscripts written in german dialects. the KdIH provides descriptions of the contents of each manuscript (with a focus on the illustrations), and if there's a digital reproduction of a manuscript available anywhere, the KdIH usually links to it. the KdIH is an invaluable tool for me because of its focus on illustrated manuscripts, because of the informations it provides for each manuscript, and because of its useful search function (once you've gotten over the initial confusion of how to navigate the website). the downside is that it includes only german manuscripts, which is one of the main reasons for the over-representation of german manuscripts on my blog (sorry about that).

another important database for german manuscripts in general (i.e. not just illustrated ones) is the handschriftencensus, which catalogues information regarding the entirety of german language manuscripts of the middle ages, and also links to the digital reproductions of each manuscript.

then there are simply considerable snowball effects. if you do even just superficial research on any medieval topic at all (say, if you open the wikipedia article on alchemy), you will inevitably stumble upon mentions of specific illustrated manuscripts. the next step is to simply search for a digital copy of the manuscript in question (this part can sometimes be easier said than done, especially when you're coming from wikipedia). one thing to keep in mind is that a manuscript illustration seldom comes alone - so every hint to any illustration at all is a greatly valuable one (if you do what i do lol). there's always gonna be something interesting in any given illustrated manuscript. (sidenote: one very effective 'cheat code' would be to simply go through all manuscripts that other online hobbyist archivers of manuscript illustrations have gone through before - like @discardingimages on tumblr - but some kind of 'professional pride' detains me from doing so. that's just a kind of stubbornness though. like, i want to find my material more or less on my own, not just the images but also the manuscripts, and i apply arbitrary rules to my search as to what exactly that means.)

whatever tool or strategy i use to find specific illustrated manuscripts-- in the end, one unavoidable step is to actually manually skim through the (digitized) manuscript. i usually have at least a quick look at every single illustrated page, and i download or screenshot everything that is interesting to me. this process can take up to an hour per manuscript.

---

in conclusion, i'd say that finding cool illuminated manuscripts is much simpler than i would have thought before i started this blog. there are so many of them out there and they're basically just 'hidden in plain side', it's really astounding. finding the manuscripts doesn't require special skills, just some basic experience with/knowledge of the tools available. the reason i'm able to post interesting images almost daily is just that i spend a lot of time doing all of this, going through manuscripts, curating this blog, etc. i find a lot of comfort in it, i learn a lot along the way, and i immensely enjoy people's engagement with my posts. so that's that :)

#if you ever have any specific questions about any of these tools or my strategies feel free to ask or dm me #i'd also be interested in recommendations of databases that are specific to other languages/regions that are neither german nor english #preferably with a focus on illuminated manuscripts #or useful databases that are just not very well known #ask #medieval art #medieval studies #btw @anon sorry for only getting around to answering your ask now #and re: your following message. first of all never apologize for your english skills. like ever #it's a daily struggle for me as well tbh. i never post anything without german/english dictionary tabs open lol #and i feel like i 'owe' it to the tumblr blogger format to write in smooth english #secondly your question wasn't dumb at all! i'm glad somebody asked :)

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djappleblush · 2 years

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Have you ever sat down to read 17 fics all at once that the plots start to merge and you suddenly get an incoherent, jumbled mess of scenarios in your head you are no longer sure of what is happening

Or are you normal?

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luckydicekirby · 4 days

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alright MY turn to do a post s2 devil's minion fic!

all human decisions, 20k, armand/daniel, a bit of daniel/louis too for fun.

Daniel’s bastard maker had the advantage over him: he could travel by daylight. By the time Daniel woke at dusk, sprawled on the couch and actually literally tucked in, there was no sign of him. Well, fuck Armand. Daniel might be a newly minted best-selling conspiracy theorist whose sanity was being publicly debated on every existing social media platform, but he was still a journalist. He could track down one monstrous extremely divorced serial killer, easy.

#sarah writes #interview with the vampire #iwtv #this is like reverse devil's minion chase + a bunch of ideas reading tvl and devil's minion put in my brain.#and have probably been dissolved enough to be undetectable by most normal people--#posting this at midnight and immediately closing multiple gdoc tabs #and NOT working on the cover letter i was procrastinating on.

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unordinary-diary · 1 month

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Blyke and John: the Followup

In my last entry, I pointed out the similarities between chapters 249 and 121, but I had hit the image limit and wasn’t able to embed screenshots. I got around this by linking the chapters, but this is probably my favorite parallel, and to do it justice I think I need to really put them next to each other.

(121) (249)

It’s the same fucking scene but backwards and in a different font.

They’re the SAAAAAAAAAAME!!!!!!!!

This was definitely on purpose. Shit like this ^^ doesn’t happen by accident.

#unordinary #blyke unordinary #john unordinary #you know you’re deep in when you think you’re editing your draft and you’re wondering why the pictures are formatted all weird #Then you scroll down and realize you’re looking at the actual episode #i clicked the wrongfucking tab #T_T #I’m actually insane because when I first realized how similar Blyke and John are I denied it #I was like “nah but they’re nothing alike”#what was I on #girl wtf #AND NOW IVE MADE FIVE WHOLE ENTRIES ABOUT IT #I don’t think i’ve ever made more than one entry about a topic before #The most boldfaced lie i ever did tell myself apparently #Analysis #Blyke and John parallels #i can’t believe i just made an actual tag for that #How many times am I gonna write about this?#this one better be the last #But Really I’ve got no idea what essays my future brain has in store #Speaking of which. Essays is apparently the proper term for what I make #I’ve been calling them “little literary analyses”#which is also true #but I was trying to find a term for fan-nonfiction #nonfiction fanwork #like this #meta #and my brother was like: “you mean an essay?”#Yeah i guess that is what I mean #I like fan-nonfiction better though

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writerfae · 2 months

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Aiden liked starlight lakes.

Few things could compare to their beauty, with the reflections of a million stars shining on the water surface at night and their glow still lingering there even at day time.

They were peaceful, too, something Aiden had learned to appreciate. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy spending time at court with his family and friends, but the place was always so busy that sometimes Aiden needed some alone time.

By day, he rarely got it. There were always people around and things to do. Again, not that he minded. He’d take it over being lonely again any day, even if it could be a little overwhelming sometimes.

Even at night he wasn’t alone, which made it hard to sneak out even then, with his boyfriend’s arms always wrapped tightly around him.

This night, however, Aiden had managed to slip away, gently freeing himself of the secure grip around him to go for a little midnight swim.

Neither Talon nor Aiden’s brother would be all too thrilled to know Aiden was out at night, alone nonetheless. But this was exactly what Aiden needed right now.

Swimming had been something he always adored, back in his hometown. Whether it was splashing around at daytime with his brother, swimming on his own at night or secretly skinny-dipping with Theo that one time.

The lake in his hometown could in no way compare to the beauty of this starlight lake, though. Aiden found himself marveling at its beauty, still after the many times he’s seen it and others of its kind. He enjoyed swimming in it even more.

Aiden scooped a little bit of water in his hands as if to drink from it and admired the mini version of the constellation above his head reflected in the water. Like many times before, childlike wonder struck him at the reminder that what he held in his hands were reflections of the stars. The real, actual stars. It was truly magical.

Starlight lakes, Aiden had decided, were his favorite thing about the faerie realm.

Suddenly, he felt someone sliding their arms around him from behind and for a moment he froze in surprise.

“Found you,” a voice whispered close to his ear, before placing a kiss on the sensitive skin behind it.

Aiden instantly relaxed. He smiled to himself. “Talon.”

Okay, maybe starlight lakes were his second favorite thing about the faerie realm.

Talon kissed the side of Aiden’s neck, like trying to kiss the stars from his skin and Aiden tilted his head to the side to give him better access. He sighed.

“You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know?”

Talon hummed, the feeling of it against his skin making Aiden shiver. “But I am always looking for you,” he said with a muffled voice, his face still buried in Aiden’s neck. “And I always find you. Sooner or later.”

Aiden turned around to face Talon, putting his arms around the other’s neck. He looked at him, admiring how pretty his boyfriend looked in the moonlight, hair still messy from sleep and skin glistening with the reflection of stars, much like Aiden’s own. “That you do. And I’m grateful for it.”

It was true. Aiden was grateful. He’s waited for Talon to come around and find him. It took them a while, but Aiden found that Talon was more than worth the wait.

Once they’ve first found their way to each other, they always kept coming back around. Aiden wasn’t planning on ever letting to, on ever stopping to wait for Talon to find him.

He was glad it was him. Back then, now and for all eternity.

He kissed him, slow and sweet, trying to put all those feelings that he was never quite able to put into words into this gesture instead.

Talon’s grip around his waist tightened as Aiden pulled him impossibly closer, till they were all but chest to chest. The kiss deepened and Aiden reached out to bury a hand in blonde locks, like he had many times before and would hopefully do many times after.

Aiden could’ve done this for all eternity. Being close to him, feeling his hands all over him, sharing this kiss surrounded by thousands of stars. So he kept kissing him till it stole both their breaths, breaking apart for air only for seconds before diving back in.

After a while though, Aiden felt tiredness slowly wash over him. After all, it was already pretty late. He broke the kiss, leaning his head against Talon’s shoulder and pulling his legs around the boy’s torso, just letting him hold him.

“Tired, ma ghir’nan?” Talon asked, kissing the crown of Aiden’s hair.

Aiden smiled at the nickname. He nodded, hair brushing against Talon’s neck.

Talon chuckled. “Let’s get you back to bed, then.” Gently he guided Aiden out of the water, helped to dry him off and carried him to bed, ever the dutiful guard and boyfriend.

He tugged him in and held him close and Aiden let out a sigh, feeling content. Truly, this was all worth the wait, he thought before drifting off to sleep in his lover’s embrace.

Yes, he liked starlight lakes, but he liked Talon even more.

This is not deserving of the official tag list but @deadlycupid and @bunnymermaidwrites and maybe also @sleepy-night-child you guys might still appreciate it and won’t judge me if it’s bad haha

#every time I’m like should I allow them some more sexy time and every time the answer is no I’m too embarrassed to write that #if I weren’t ace and also anxiety ridden would I write them have sex in a starlight lake? absolutely. but I am ace and anxiety ridden so no #I like to apologize for this last tab it’s stupid xD #the ending was supposed to be a little more sassy but my own tiredness washed over to Aiden #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing

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