1 - 20 of 58 Works by sappymix1
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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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George made a disgruntled noise. He sank further down against the couch, his sweatshirt pooling around his middle making him look a bit like he was melting into the cushions. “Why do you want me to neglect Patches? She’s our baby. That’s messed up, Dream.”
Dream scoffed. His hand brushed against the back of George’s head, against his silky hair. Normally, Dream would have found the spot on his neck, the tiny gap between where his hair ended and his shirt began, the strip of pale pink skin and sparse freckles that always made George’s entire demeanor go boneless and happy when Dream’s thumb brushed against it, but there was too much fabric in the way. Not that running his fingers carefully through George’s hair – the comfort this would inevitably turn into – was a downgrade by any means. Just different. Still special, in the way anything with George was. “What? You were threatening to put her on the streets thirty seconds ago.”
“Dreeeeam,” George groaned, tilting his head back. “I don’t feel good. You can’t be mean to me. It’s, like, immoral.”
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George's allergies in Florida: One, Two, and Three -
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Dream loved being with his family, and he loved having George around his family. He loved all of the tiny pieces coming into place and he loved seeing the colors swirl and blend together, like the sparkling water in his bath as his limbs moved gracelessly. He pressed himself too close to him, noses nearly brushing, and he told George through giggles after too many glasses of the sparkling red wine his older sister and her wife brought that he was like a bathbomb, and, on the same breath, asked if he wanted to go to the beach with him tomorrow.
George smiled, cheeks flushed and warm, and he said "okay." And "what is that supposed to mean?"
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George's flight to London is canceled, and he spends Christmas with Dream. -
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It was easy to tune out the sound of the shovels hitting dirt, the blisters being worn into his fingers and palm even through thick gloves, the cold – colder than it should have been, for an October in Orlando – creeping into his chest. It was easy to think about George back at home, letting Patches curl up on his stomach. It was easy to think about his dark eyes, the ones that had been so carefully made to be as correct as possible. It was easy to think about the way that he would so carefully touch Dream, the same gentle grip that Dream had seen a million times on camera before things went to shit and they got desperate. It had been an interesting experiment, learning what was purely bodily and what wasn’t.
George. It was so easy to do all of this, when he reminded himself that it was for George.
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The wait for the visa gets hard, and Dream gets experimental. -
the things you do where nobody can see by sappymix1 for womanhunt
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF
31 Oct 2024
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George stepped through the door, and the bare skin of his arm brushing the bare skin of Dream’s arm sent sparks flying up Dream’s spine, circling around his forehead like a crown. It was the most normal interaction in the world. Dream felt, suddenly, like everything that they wanted to keep to themselves might have been displayed across his face.
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Someone else's Halloween party is probably not the best place to hard launch their relationship. All Dream can think about is kissing him. -
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The physical part was easy. Whatever it was, whatever force that his family was tapped into, it was hungry. And it liked flesh and blood and bone and all those other little pieces that made humans humans, but not in a particularly scary way. It wasn’t like George was still using his baby teeth for anything else, anyway. And for most things, that was all it took. A small pearly tooth or two, tucked into a pile of dirt or a few drops of blood from a needle pricking his fingers, and they bloomed into a musty black flower that twisted around his wrist when he reached out to touch its petals. It left stains, like oil, on his fingers, and it only lived as long as it took for whatever he asked for to be fulfilled. A small sacrifice, for a tiny bit of good fortune or protection.
Things got harder, after he met Dream.
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George uses magic to keep Dream safe as they blow up. -
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He was still demonstrating the little snippets they had filmed, when his phone buzzed on his desk.
Dream scrambled for it, lapsing into silence as his heart beat sped up. He had felt weird, for some reason, about telling people he was doing laundry and he had changed it over while he was getting food. He hadn’t bothered to set a timer for the dryer, figuring he would just get it once Sam’s stream ended, so all that was displayed across the screen was a Snapchat notification from George.
Surely if George was, like, dying he wouldn’t have bothered with Snapchat. He would have just sent a text. Dream opened it with perhaps an embarrassing level of desperation regardless and, when it loaded, a soft laugh caught in his throat.
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George wakes up while Dream is still on Sam's stream. -
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The funny thing was, actually, that George didn’t look surprised in the slightest when Dream asked to draw him. He was gorgeous. He probably had artists begging to paint him every day of his life. Burnt out starving artists trying and failing to find inspiration by jerking off to their own pain and falling to his feet in desperation. That wasn’t projection on Dream’s behalf, he told himself firmly. He would have asked to paint George if he had just been commissioned for whatever the French equivalent to the Sistine Chapel would be.
But George had said no.
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Dream is an American artist struggling to find inspiration in Paris until he runs into George, the only person he wants to draw and the only person who won't let him. -
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George was laying on the tile floor, hair spread out around her like a dark, tangled halo, wearing nothing but a navy blue sports bra that Dream vaguely remembered seeing her throw in the cart on a Walmart trip once and a pair of boxer shorts that fell somewhere around her midthighs. Her cheeks were flushed pink, long eyelashes fluttering against them, and there was a thin sheen of sweat making her skin look particularly pretty and glowy.
Dream leaned around the counter, removing a stray curl from where it was sticking to her forehead. “Hey,” she said. “Are you dead?”
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In the middle of a heat wave, Dream and George have a pool day.
For fem dnf day seven: summer!!!Series
- Part 4 of fem dnf week 2024
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Dream’s hand was still on George's waist when Sylvee arrived. She glanced at that, and then back at George’s face. “Please try not to look so in love with one another when you’re on stage,” she said and, to her credit, she only sounded a little bit exasperated. “People are going to notice that I keep having to turn Instagram comments off eventually.”
Sapnap laughed, Dream blushed deep red, and George scowled.
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Dream and George sing a song together. Their secret relationship may not be as secret as they would like.
for fem dnf week day 5: drusic or band auSeries
- Part 3 of fem dnf week 2024
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“So, I’m reading this book,” George's sister said, and her voice had almost a stage quality to it, like this was something she had been thinking about for awhile. "“Do you know George Sand? The French author?”
George looked up property, abandoning the safety of her shoes and her scabbed up knees. “No,” she said, and then because she was still feeling too-warm and difficult, “obviously.”
Her sister took her mopey response in stride. “That wasn’t her real name. I don’t remember what it was; it was, like, aggressively French. But she wrote under the name George and she wore men's clothes.”
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George gets a new name in London and a new shirt in Orlando.for fem dnf week days one and four: sharing clothes and butch/femme
Series
- Part 2 of fem dnf week 2024
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To her, placing blocks and sending lines felt like skin pressed against skin and sticky sweet lipgloss mixing with saliva and spreading all over. She could imagine hands — bigger than hers? Dream was tall. Broad shoulders. Sometimes, she imagined hands that dwarfed hers. Fingers that stretched the entire way across her stomach as they pushed her shirt up to reveal pale freckled skin. Holding her jaw, brushing the thin skin under her eyes that she brushed makeup over when she was going out and didn’t want everyone to know she pulled long, late hours on her computer.
But other times, the hands were smaller than hers, and she was the one who could circle her fingers all around the other's wrist. It was easy, facelessness. A fun exercise in imagination, and some other lavender emotion that felt a little like want. A little like ranking up in Tetris.
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Dream falls in love playing Tetris with someone across the ocean.
for fem dnf week day two: 90s vibesSeries
- Part 1 of fem dnf week 2024
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He could see George's teeth – his perfect front teeth, like little iridescent seashells pressed to his gums – working at his lip. Not biting it, not the harsh mean pressure Dream had put on himself a million times, just rubbing against it. It felt the same way that it did when George clutched his hands together. A safety thing. And Dream thought back to scraggly hoodie strings lit by New Years fireworks.
Dream had never been good at moving from place A to place B. It always felt awkward and stilted and like he was two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Maybe that’s why he and George had been stumbling over what their relationship was becoming for months now. But asking George if he wanted Dream to put his fingers in his mouth only felt like the next natural step, he supposed.
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George likes having something in his mouth. Dream likes George. -
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Valentine’s day came three months before June’s first birthday. She had started crawling more aggressively, lately, and had taken to wobbling around on two feet, much to both Dream and George’s distress. There was so much more danger, it seemed, once you were upright. Like, cabinet knobs to hit your head on. George had crab walked around the kitchen – clumsy and with just as many complaints as giggles from them both – so that he was closer to June’s height and Dream had followed him around wrapping everything he thought she could potentially hit her head on in bubble wrap and duct tape.
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After seven years, Valentine's day looks a bit different. -
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George walked through time like it was an elevator door.
Press the button for the second floor, and you’re at the dawn of a revolution. Press for the third, the world is at war and you’re searching for a bomb shelter. Get a bit too eager, reach up for thirty-three or something crazy, and the sea levels have risen and you’re coming out twenty meters under water. Or something like that. Most buttons, you were just going through a normal life, but Minecraft hadn’t been invented yet.
Every time he met Dream was a bright light. A little piece of stardust, torn from the sky of some place and some time and smashed against his crumbled mental timeline, until it made its own little beacon to guide him there.
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George finds Dream in every life he looks for him in. -
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“Let me undress you,” he whispered, and Dream nodded. George pulled his shirt over his head, a little bit quick and a lot clumsy. What was easier was removing Dream’s belt, George’s fingers quick and nimble as they undid the buckle and pulled it from his baggy jeans, and it wasn’t long before all that was left of them was two piles of clothes on the floor bleeding into one another, as Dream took George’s hand and carefully pulled him into the shower.
The water was hot enough that it burned, but George beamed the second that he was under it. “It’s not too warm, is it?” Dream asked anyway, self conscious at the notion that he could have fucked up the first thing he had done for George after he got home.
“It’s perfect,” George said, a little bit forceful, like he had known what was going on inside Dream’s head, what thoughts the distance had let fester a bit more than Dream would have liked.
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it's a new year, and they shower. -
WARNING: no lifeguard on duty. swim at your own risk by sappymix1 for moonthreadsz
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF
25 Dec 2023
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"I'm a witch, I mean," he said. An invitation. Bait, if Dream was a different man, one who didn’t wear cat beanies and who didn’t believe in love and good and kindness. Dream had always been partial to the sunlight side of the world he inhabited, at least when he could. Whatever it was, the man took it, clean.
“A witch?” His voice changed, a sound that said smile as well as it did the words that his lips and tongue formed. Dream got a glimpse of his teeth. They were sharp, but he could tell they didn’t get used like that. They were kind of small. Little pearly seashells tucked into tender pink flesh, the type that you’d feel guilty for chipping even if they were the ones trying to take chunks out of you. “You know magic?”
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Dream is a witch new to LA and George is a cursed siren he finds living in a swimming pool. -
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Dream and George had met, albeit briefly, before George’s father had died. Dream had been studying music, and his parents had called him down to demonstrate for their guests while his older sister played the piano. George remembered vividly, the way the taller man had descended down the stairs. He still had that clumsiness that came with being young and being new to long legs and pinched shoes, but there was a grace there and something about his smile and his freckles that made him look more like he belonged in the sun than anyone George had ever seen that was captivating. And then when he sang, a short and borderline operatic piece, it was… George had never been one for music. But hearing Dream’s voice, even through poorly pronounced French, he understood why people would dedicate their lives to it.
He hadn’t seen Dream since. But he’d heard what had happened to him. Everyone had. And now, hair messier and skin still pale with deep eyebags, it was hard to see him as the vibrate singer George had met all those years ago. Still, he was captivating. Beautiful, if no longer untouchable.
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Dream and George meet in 19th century Russia.