Unsurprisingly, I'm not done talking about s&b s2, let's discuss the rage over "ignoring" inej's trauma (spoiler: it wasn't actually ignored) and why exploring it in the poison scene would've been a terrible idea
Inej’s story was hinted at several times (which is more than we've got with other characters in 2 seasons *cough* jesper *cough* matthias)
They did it in bits & pieces as much as they could, in s1 Inej almost willing to kill just so she doesn’t go back to the menagerie, in her telling jesper she learned to suture her own wounds there. In s2, we see those pieces hammered in a bit more, Inej’s scared when she says pekka owns everything the menagerie owns. The most difficult scene to watch being the one on the roof with the taxidermist. The second he puts her on the ground and gets on top of her she is frozen. She looks TERRIFIED. And I'm gonna quote amita here, we know inej's capable of getting out of his hold easily but the shock of being in that position with a man violating her space & body again, telling her he'll take her back to the menagerie and "take a piece" is enough to have her body lock up and she's almost helpless in the face of her ptsd (paralleling to Kaz’s reaction in shu han)
If the writers had used the poison hallucinations to go further into her backstory, it would've simply been too rushed and an insult to the depths of torture she went through. Think of the length of that entire scene & think of the length each of their visions got. I can't see how they could've delved deeper with her, put her in those silks, without coming up short or without completely ruining her mental state that it would've been difficult to move on with the current plot at hand. There's a reason the spinoff script has a whole episode dedicated to each crow, where they can comfortably explore the heavier themes of each of their lives with respect & what it means for the characters' journey.
Lastly I'd like to say the actual hallucination we got MADE SENSE. After their moment changing her wound and Kaz pushing her away, she would dream of this. She desires intimacy with Kaz. In her dream, he makes an effort. In her dream, he asks for her consent. In her dream, they are BOTH vulnerable, both without their armour.
Despite the trauma she still desires and that's an important part of her that shouldn't be overlooked. She's making an effort and wants him to make an effort, if only just to find out what it would be like to be touched without it feeling like a stab. If only to find out if she can handle it.
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@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...
Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.
The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.
Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.
They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.
Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.
“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”
Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.
“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”
“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”
Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.
“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”
Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.
“May I, then ?”
“You may.”
𝄽
They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.
“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”
Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.
“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”
“No ? Truly ?”
“No.”
Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.
“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.
They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.
“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”
Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.
“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”
“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”
“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”
Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.
Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.
A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.
Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.
The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.
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