sappymix1
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- Video Blogging RPF (59)
- Minecraft (Video Game) (8)
- Dream SMP (1)
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“Couldn’t we have paid Manager Ken to do this?” George grumbled next to him, barely an inch of skin visible.
“What?” Dream said. His voice left a soft puff of white in the air before them. “You don’t want to pick your own Christmas tree? It’s, like, like you don’t even have the Christmas spirit, George.”
George scrunched up his face like he was trying to scowl at Dream, but his eyes shined bright. “I’m too cold to have any type of spirit.”
Dream automatically slipped his arm around George’s shoulders. Just for a moment, while they were alone. And George leaned in, automatic too. They had had years at this point, and it still sort of shocked Dream every time at how well he fit in that space.
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four stories about cold hands. -
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It wasn’t that Dream loved George. Dream didn’t love much of anyone, in the deep way that he let penetrate his entire self. Who did, these days? There was a war going on. Nobody with any sense let themselves feel anything that deeply. The sort of way that would destroy you if they were taken away. Nobody who wished to lack that much sense had the to option, anyway. Too much talk of money and blood and old country summer homes filled the space where love might have come into any conversation. He didn’t love George. They just spent most of their time together and most of George’s clothes were in his closet anyway, so it was only natural that he climbed through Dream’s window most nights and it was only natural that he didn’t then climb back out. Dream just worried compulsively about him every time he disappeared for too long and thought sometimes about throwing his pistols into the fucking Moskva while George slept.
He swallowed. His mouth tasted like copper, which was wrong too. George’s blood was everywhere.
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Dream's spouse and his boyfriend duel in 19th century Russia. He tells himself he's not in love. -
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Dream had overgrown dirty blond hair that, even over saturated with salty water, still fell in soft curls over his forehead and down around his ears. Lots of freckles. Like, a lot of freckles. Filling in the darkened skin under his eyes and tracing the lines of his pale shoulders. Pale broad shoulders. Striking green eyes. And a flipper. Yeah.
So George had – reasonably – freaked out a little as he not only accidentally pulled a man out of the water with his fishing line but immediately found out that said man was part fucking fish.
“I’m not part fish,” Dream said with a scoff. “I’m a sea monster. It’s not the same at all, really. I don’t even have gills.”
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George meets a tall hot guy who plays Minecraft at a bar. A few months later, he catches a sea monster on his fishing line. -
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“Dude.” Sapnap held up the piece of bread that he had intended to use to make a sandwich, now splattered with an amalgamation of different colors, so vivid that they hardly looked real. “You’ve gotta stop this.”
“I can’t control it!” George set down his glass of apple juice a little bit too aggressively, causing some of the amber liquid to slosh over the side and splatter across the wooden table. He swore and reached for a napkin, while Dream at the same time quickly grabbed a paper towel. Something about George’s movements were a little twitchy, and it was obvious that he was on edge.
“Remember when we used to just be able to keep the house plants we didn’t water alive?” Sapnap said mournfully as Dream and George wiped up the apple juice. Their hands got a bit too close and, just for a second, Dream let himself revel in it. A ridiculous instinct, when it came to interacting with the man who woke up in his bed more mornings than he didn’t. Equally ridiculous was the way that George yanked his hand away. Sapnap continued, oblivious. “And catnip would grow in the yard even without us ever planting any?”
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Dream hard launches a relationship, and mold starts growing through their home. -
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Perhaps, Dream thought, as the stick lost contact with George’s finger tip and launched through the air towards her, this was some sort of cosmic punishment. That whatever higher power watched over shitty local venues frequented by college students who hadn’t discovered the wonders of either deodorant or job applications had noticed her zoning out staring at the bones twitching in George’s small fingers and decided that a drumstick to the face taking out her teeth – which were nice, by the way. She quite liked them – or her eye, or maybe the piercing still getting used to her left nostril was an appropriate punishment.
But that thought was quick. Apparently, the universe wasn’t that mad at her, because Dream ducked, and the drumstick fell against the floor in front of the stage, bouncing twice before rolling to a stop. Dream’s kaleidoscope eyes followed it. As did George’s. And the lead singer’s, the bassist’s, and the guitarist’s.
"Oh," George had said, and, honestly, it was a bigger shock than anything else that a very English accent swallowed up her voice. "Whoops."
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for fem dnf week day 4: band/music
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Bookmarked by sappymix1
21 Jan 2026
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Cats don’t love him on sight. He knows of people who can charm animals in their wake, and that isn’t Dream. But he knows cats, and he knows how to get them to love him.
He knows that cats need patience, and space. They like keeping their own schedules, and demanding food, and accepting affection on their own terms. They don’t like to be forced into anything, but once there was enough trust they would gladly seek out your presence.
Patches was a bit of an anomaly, to that extent, but not by much. She loved her space, but as far as she was concerned, her space was wherever Dream existed. She goes to greet him when he arrives home, and meows for his attention when she’s going to eat, or nap. Rarely does she sleep on any of the beds spread around their house if Dream isn’t chilling there first. She doesn’t complain at all when Dream seeks her out as the last, softest resort of comfort he has. Many times has George found the two of them cuddling into Dream’s bed, her soft purr silencing his sobs.
(The metaphor was there.)
(The metaphor was there. His voice couldn’t help but be soft with those he loved.)
Bookmarked by sappymix1
25 Mar 2025
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"My, like, night terrors," George had been telling him one night three Halloween’s ago, the one before his first one in Florida, "they get bad the night before Halloween. They get really bad. I don’t know why. They just do."
"What were you dreaming of just now?"
George took a while to answer, the only reason Dream knew he would do so was because of the way he could hear his lips part hesitantly before coming back together again. He heard his muffled sighs of frustration, his breathing deepening with each second the time dragged on.
"You don’t have to tell me."
"You," George had said almost at the same time. "I was dreaming of you. And, like, bad things happening. To you."
It's often that Dream wishes he could climb inside George's head.
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i would not know where to drop the knife by demonstars for sappymix1
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF
17 Aug 2024
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Time melts and slips from George's fingers.
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- English
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- 8,728
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Bookmarked by sappymix1
18 Aug 2024
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George wants strawberries. Dream wants George.
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Bookmarked by sappymix1
16 Feb 2024