#in waking dreams

[cuubism]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love ❤

aw thank you :) here's a few i've been thinking of, for dreamling:

Here in the Darkness

Hope and Morpheus are so special to me ❤️ my favorite AU that I got way too into and am still into. Reverse verse AU.

Morphology

Eldritch smut with genderfluid shape-fluid Dream. Really pushed myself outside my comfort zone to write this one and it was very fun.

Deja vu, Deja Connu

Fic where I'm like "I promise it's really good in my head, guys" because I'm so slow at updating it. But for real, Dream being Hob's lover in different guises throughout the centuries and deluding himself about it not being a real relationship. I really enjoy thinking about it, would love to actually write more of it too 😂

how longingly

I think it's my favorite smut I've written for them :) Dream, who's never slept with a man, decides he wants to know what it's like. How convenient that Hob is there for some no strings attached sex.

In Waking Dreams

Dream marriage fishbowl rescue. My most complex plotty fic for them. I swear to god I'm gonna finish it soon!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[clemenlush]

i hope this isnt a dream

[anna-scribbles]

emma dupain cheng on the brain😽🎀

more:

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[toyogamii]

”don’t do this.”

you’re desperate, satoru can tell. he has his blind fold pulled down over his eyes so he doesn’t have to face you fully.

“toru, please, we can talk about this,” your breath is picking up, there’s tears threatening to fall. god, he wants to hold you so bad. he feels himself leaning towards and forces his body to stop. he shudders slightly.

“i cheated on you.”

he could never, there’s no one in this world he’d rather be with than you.

you freeze, you don’t know how to handle it.

“oh.”

he can’t help but flinch at your tone. he wants to beg you to stop looking at him like that, scream that it was just a lie, he didn’t mean it; he could never dream of hurting you.

but he doesn’t, he drives the nail deeper, rubs salt on the bleeding wound.

“they were prettier than you.”

no one could ever be prettier than you, he thinks.

you gulp and nod, still looking numbly at the ground,

“okay… get out.”

you’re pointing towards the door and it hits him, you’re making him leave. he doesn’t want to, something inside of him is begging, screaming for him to turn back around but by the time satoru gets the courage look back he’s on your porch, staring at a closed door.

he shudders again, there’s no sense of relief like he’d thought there would be. hurting you so badly that you’d leave him had been his intention, he accomplished his goal.

it’s too keep you safe he tells himself, he’s leaving because he loves you so much.

he’s the strongest, he’s not allowed to have weaknesses like you.

pt. 2

a/n: @kissagii I had to

[bittsandpieces]

[flora-of-the-moon]

(Part 2 of my other post)

More chaotic Soulsborne/Arcane snippets from my disaster of a dream

[antlergrave]

uh oh

oh damn he was just dreaming

[archiepelago]

You’re on a path—

Hey wait that’s not a princess.

[lovestruck-lamb]

[cuubism]

For the WIP title game—can I know about In Waking Dreams?

more of my very very slow progress on the final chapter of that one :)

--

“I was called there,” said Dream. “Summoned, in a way. I still do not yet understand fully why.” Hob couldn’t help a startled laugh. “You were summoned to a wedding with a random man and you just went along with it?” “You were not ‘a random man’, you were one of my dreamers,” said Dream indignantly. “It was a dream, so I played my part in the story—it had been a long time since I had fulfilled a dream personally. I did not expect you to remember it, or me, later. You… surprised me.” “Hopefully in a good way.” Dream hummed in affirmation. “Do not think that I could not have simply left the dream if I wanted to. I was… intrigued. Especially when I felt your dreams calling me the second time.” Yes, Hob remembered that wedding night well, long ago though it was. “Intrigued, huh?” “…I liked the way that you looked at me.”

[marisashinx]

How long have they've been sleeping?

[paintedcrows]

they make me feel unwell

(continued: Stan & Young Ford)

[amielot]

Sensitive

Bonus:

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[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one