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lovetorn · 3 years

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nightmare dressed like a daydream [dream]

Prince!Dream x Fem!Assassin!Reader

Summary: Y/n is an assassin, moving from kingdom to kingdom to eliminate targets. That’s until she meets Clay, the prince of Dreland, who takes a liking to her unbeknownst of her true intentions.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.”

Word Count: 10.6k (o_O)

Warnings: a lot of death & blood (murder, heart failure), weapons (knives), swearing, toxic relationship, unrequited love :(, mentions of abuse, parental issues — i think that’s all, but if you see anything, lmk!! it’s kinda cringe i use ‘clay’ so like pls ignore it sdfghjkgjh

A/N: this is the fic i’m most proud of :’). there may be a few plot holes and filler paragraphs btw lol. if you have any questions about this fic, shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain, discuss etc. anything you have relating to it! yayyy! enjoy!

She isn’t meant to be here. As a matter of fact, she isn’t supposed to be alive at all. After her last job, Y/n found herself in trouble with the wrong people. She had managed to escape from the small village she was in and find new clients in lands far away—which brought her here, tonight, in the kingdom of Dreland, at a Masquerade in the King’s castle.

She’s dressed in her best skirts and bodice, perfectly fit for the party and makes her blend in seamlessly. She doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention considering her true intentions of being here.

She walks along the edge of the ballroom, her skirts trailing behind her slightly, and the handle of her mask in her hand. Her movements are sharp and calculated but seem elegant to onlookers. Nobody suspects a thing.

Soon, she’s moving into the middle of the floor and being surrounded by older men who extend their hands to ask for a dance. Y/n shakes her head and declines politely; she doesn’t need to cause a scene.

There’s a stage on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sit in their grand thrones, and Y/n observes their actions, watching around them for one person in particular. She sees a young man exit the curtains with a platter. He wears an apron with a white fabric strip around his hair and holds the tray with delicacy. Y/n snarls when she realises he’s not the right one.

She inches closer to the stage, going to adjust her mask and purposefully dropping it. She watches as the object clatters on the floor and sighs exaggeratedly, waiting for someone to assist her. As planned, a pair of shiny black shoes arrive beside her mask, and the person leans down to grasp it from the polished timber.

“I think you dropped this, Ma’am.”

Their eyes meet—or at least she thinks they do; the badly drawn smile on his mask is distracting and incredibly unsettling for an event such as this one. Y/n knows who he is though, even behind the mask. He is her target.

“The Prince?” Y/n exclaimed in bewilderment. “Mr Wilbur, Sir, do you know how hard that’ll be?”

The older man rolls his eyes before he glares into hers. “I was told you were the best in the business. Do you want the 50 gold or not?” Y/n nods.

“Good. Now, I give you three weeks to complete this, or you get nothing but excruciating death.”

The tall man peers down at her. His head is tilting to the side as he takes in her appearance. “Who are you?”

Y/n was waiting for this question. She simply laughs and takes her mask from his grasp. “I was invited by a friend of mine. She seems to have disappeared since I’ve been over here, though.”

Her disappointment of an excuse has the man nodding—he’s taken the bait. “Interesting.”

Y/n smiles awkwardly, the atmosphere of the room shifting slightly. She hates situations like this.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, and Y/n’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me for my informality.”

Y/n shakes her head, giggling lightly as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the exit. He’d usually never stray far from events such as this, but seeing a girl his age and ready for adventure changes his attitude.

Sneaking out past the guards, who pay no mind to two people in masks at a Masquerade, the pair step into the fresh air outside.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asks, already knowing his answer.

“Uh—Clay?” His response sounds more of a question than an answer, which makes Y/n cock her head.

“Why do you make your reply sound like that?”

“Sorry,” He laughs. “Most people call me Dream. I’m the Prince of Dreland.”

False realisation crosses Y/n’s face as she facepalms. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, your highness.”

Dream shakes his head vigorously. “No! No need for formalities, truly. I’m wonderful with being normal for once.”

He hesitates before unclasping his mask from behind his head. The ceramic object falls slightly before he catches it and then he’s looking at Y/n properly.

Dream’s hair fluffs up lightly before he runs his hand through it to tame it. Y/n holds her mask in her hand as she watches him fix his appearance.

“Now that I’ve told you mine, what’s yours?”

Y/n is wary of her answer. On the one hand, she could lie, and on the other, she remembers that he’ll most likely be dead soon, so she shouldn’t lie.

“Y/n.”

Dream smiles at her. “Pretty.” Y/n thanks him and then they stand silently next to each other, the guard near the front door inching closer.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Dream asks quietly. Y/n smirks whilst nodding—she didn’t think she’d be finished the job this quickly.

Dream throws a glance back at the guard before he leads her towards the garden. The moon makes it hard to see the path, but they get there eventually. There’s no talking as they walk, the pair far too busy taking in the beauty of the moonlit garden.

The dirt beds are filled with rose and sunflower bushes, the scent creating a solacing hug around Y/n as she goes to sit next to Dream on a bench. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to gloss her body.

She usually isn’t nervous about committing murder, but Dream makes her uneasy. The way that his eyes glance at her worryingly and the harsh tension in his shoulders tells Y/n that Dream’s definitely had this happen before. Y/n bites the inside of her lip; she’d have to be very cunning to gain his trust.

The garden in itself provides her with a sense of comfort. It reminds her of her flower bed at home.

“So, why do they call you Dream?” Y/n asks. Her attempt at trying to defuse the awkwardness works as Dream twists his lips in thought.

“Uh—well, my mother used to say I was her ‘miracle’ and then believed the word was overused and cliche, so she came up with Dream; and it stuck—clearly.”

Y/n nods, a soft smile gracing her face as she turns to him. “Well, I think that’s lovely.”

Dream blushes, although it’s hard to see through the night. “Really?”

“Yeah! That’s beautiful.”

The pair sit in silence, revelling in the moonlight before Dream speaks up again. “Would you like to see the lake?”

Y/n contemplates before she replies. “Sure.”

She had no idea why he’s taking her there, but it’s a sign that she’s gaining his trust.

—

“You don’t know how to skip rocks?”

Dream shakes his head at Y/n, who sits with her jaw open. “How?”

He then shrugs, toying with a small pebble in his palm. “Teach me?”

Y/n nods and takes the rock from him before standing and shuffling towards the lake. She gets into position, her arm bent at an angle beside her body.

She takes a glance back at Dream to make sure he’s watching, which he is. “All you need to do is put your arm back like this, and then sweep it forwards and let go of the rock. Make sure you do it quickly, or it won’t work.”

Y/n exhales and throws her arm, the rock hopping along the glassy water before it plops into the depths.

She spins around with a smile on her face. Dream squints at her; he seems to be analysing her actions. He sighs and plucks a rock from the ground, standing and walking over to Y/n.

“Ready?” She asks. Dream nods while getting into the same stance Y/n was in only 20 seconds ago.

He looks down at the pebble for a moment and then throws it as Y/n said. Dream watches as the rock skips across the pond, creating ripples in the smooth water.

Dream leaps around, his eyes wide. “I did it!”

Y/n can’t help but laugh at him, the pure joy he feels influences her too. “You did!”

Dream sighs heavily and goes back to where they were sitting. He flips back onto the ground, avoiding the sharp rocks protruding the sparse grass. He laughs out loud again, who knew something as trivial as rock skipping could make him feel so alive.

“You’re cute; you know that?” The sudden compliment elicits a blush and a groan from Dream as Y/n nears closer. She smiles down at him. “There must be a lot of things you haven’t tried.”

The statement makes Dream’s heart drop. It’s true, there are many things he hasn’t done. “Yes…”

Y/n’s heart spasms in her chest. Poor guy.

“Ok. Well, I’ll make it my mission to make sure you get them all done before your time comes.”

Dream looks at her. There’s an adoration that swims around in them that inclines Y/n to feel uneasy again. “You mean that?”

The girl nods whilst she goes to lay next to him. “Everybody deserves happiness before they die.”

Dream scrunches his nose up, going to disagree before Y/n interrupts. She doesn’t know why she has the sudden urge to say such a thing, but her chest aches when she looks at him.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Dream. I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I feel so uneasy around you.”

This catches Dream by surprise. He tilts his head at Y/n, who covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry–“

“No need to apologise, Y/n. You make me uneasy too, I guess.”

She peers at him between her fingers and then lowers her hands. Y/n lets out a small laugh at his red cheeks and imagines a flush creeping across hers too.

“Uneasy in what sense, may I ask?” Dream’s innocent tone makes Y/n’s ears blush.

“In the sense that you're unpredictable, in a good way. I’m always up for an adventure.” Her description is slightly confusing, but Dream understands.

Above them, the oak trees rustle lightly in the cool breeze, and tiny waves begin to ripple onto the sand meters in front of their feet. The sound of water rushing forwards and then pulling back calms the rapid beating of their hearts.

“I guess I could say the same for you, Y/n.”

“Prince Clay, I have breakfast and a message for you.”

At the sound of his assistant at his bedroom door, Dream groans from his place in his bed. “What time is it?”

“10 am! Get up! I have a message for you if you didn't hear me the first time!” George teases, holding the paper between his fingers; he’s eager to open the letter.

“George!” Dream calls, grabbing his pillow from beside him and shoving his face into it.

“Clay!”

Dream sighs loudly and throws his heavy duvets off of his body, stalking towards the door to unlock it. He swings the door open to see George with a scroll of parchment and a tray with a lid in his hands. Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of breakfast, but George shakes his head. “I have to read your message first.”

Dream rolls his eyes and tells George to hurry up as he struggles to unravel it.

“Ok! Calm down. Uh—it’s from someone named Y/n? Do you know—” George is rudely interrupted when Dream freezes, then smiles. “Yes!”

“Oh, well, she asks to meet you at 9 pm at the place where rocks hop—what does that mean?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, but Dream sighs, and this time it’s in contentment and not in annoyance.

“Perfect! Thank you, Georgie. Guess I’ll see you later.” Dream snatches the tray from his assistant with his free hand, the other grabbing the piece of paper. George goes to interject before Dream steps to the side and slams the door in his face.

George stands in bewilderment behind the door. His heart aches slightly, and he’s not sure what from—maybe it’s the way Dream discarded him or because of the letter. But he certainly knows Dream has never mentioned anybody called Y/n before.

Maybe they’re just friends? Perhaps they only met last night at the Masquerade?

George scolds himself for his ridiculous thoughts and spins on his heel, heading for his own room. He hesitates before he leaves, hearing Dream let out a shout of excitement. At the sound, George pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and exhales; sadly, the situation brings tears to his dark eyes.

They’re probably just friends.

—

Dream sits anxiously on his bed, his head in his palm as he watches the clock tick. 8:39 pm. 8:40 pm. 8:41 pm.

His heart skips a beat as it reaches the time to leave. Dream leaps from his spot on the bed and goes towards his mirror on the other side of the room. His hands come down to straighten out his dark waistcoat before they move to his hair. He curls his lip up at the sight of his unruly locks and sighs, choosing to ruffle it up slightly rather than putting gel in it.

Taking in his appearance, Dream nods to himself. If he goes towards the Astronomy Tower and then loops towards the lake, he’ll arrive at precisely 8:58 pm; perfect timing.

The night is clear, and the stars look amazing from where Y/n sits on the grass next to the lake. She leans back on her elbows as she takes in the view. It’s whimsical.

Thoughts of murder and pursuit place a dark cloud over the magical evening. Y/n bites her lip and stares at the rippling water in front of her. The lake looks ominous enough to hide a body in or cover up a vast amount of blood, and the dense foliage across the lake is enough to conceal a weapon in. However, Dream is the Prince, and there is no doubt that everybody in the kingdom would be looking high and low for him if he were to go missing.

Y/n’s plans go down the drain. It shouldn't be this hard! Wilbur Soot trusted her to do this, and if she doesn’t go through with it, she is guaranteed death.

She groans loudly, bringing her hands up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes. Y/n could cry at the idea of failing and being a disappointment, even to people she doesn’t even know.

The rustling of the bushes behind her indicates Dream has arrived, but she doesn't move from her position. Instead, she chooses to gain his sympathy and find a way to manipulate him to make it easier to go through with the assassination.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Dream rushes towards her, dropping beside her on the grass. Y/n sniffs and shakes her head. “What happened?”

Dream places his hand on her back, softly. The act in itself makes Y/n jump; she’s not used to physical contact.

“Sorry.” He apologises when he sees her startled, deciding to move his hand away and place it back into his lap.

“No, you’re fine,” Y/n lets out a teary laugh. “I—erm, I just found out that my father divorced my mother, and he took the farm and cottage away from her.”

Her hands fall to her lap hopelessly, and Dream’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

The girl shakes her head. The pair sit in the dark, the moon being the only thing illuminating their faces. Y/n thinks she’s hit a dead-end until Dream sighs and continues speaking.

“I can actually relate if it makes you feel better,” This makes Y/n’s ears perk up. “My father has been going to L’Manberg on ‘business trips’, but I know why he’s really leaving.”

Gotcha.

“Clay, I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t reply and reaches over to grasp Y/n’s hand. Dream wears a crestfallen expression, his eyes glassy as he looks out over the water. Y/n feels a pang in her heart at the sight of the upset man.

“I used to think that they had a good relationship,” Dream starts. Y/n doesn’t have the will to hear his perspective on it, afraid that she’ll actually feel bad for him and lose any motivation to kill him. “Until I went for a walk one night through the halls in the castle. I heard voices in my parents’ room and wanted to say ‘goodnight’, but before I could, I heard glass smashing and terrible cries.

“I was only a child, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t want to believe it at first because why would the King and Queen do such horrible things to each other? But as I got older, I realised that they had fallen out of love and are only faking it for the kingdom.”

“Clay—”

“They don’t know that I know all of this; they think I’m as clueless as I was when I was nine. But I’m twenty-one now, and I know everything.”

Y/n screws her lips up, her throat burning with emotion. Why is she feeling like this?

“I don’t know what to say.” And it’s true. Y/n remains speechless as she listens to Dream tell her about his parents.

“Nothing. I just needed someone to know.” Dream is blunt with his words and releases Y/n’s hand. She feels awful for not being able to help him in the way he needs, but she’s not here to be his therapist—she’s here to murder him.

“Hey, how about we lighten the mood with some rock skipping?” And that’s just enough for Dream.

—

“Where are you staying?” Dream asks. Y/n is caught off guard by the question but tells him her orchestrated answer.

“In the castle, actually.”

Dream turns to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Really?” Y/n nods.

In an attempt to change the subject, Y/n picks up Dream’s hand from his lap. “Enough about me. Tell me what your favourite food is.”

Dream gives her a confused look before replying. “Vanilla cake.”

Y/n hums and fiddles with his fingers. “Interesting.”

Dream throws his head back to gaze at the moon above them. He is comfortably content at this moment with Y/n, despite only knowing her for a day. His eyes widen before he scrabbles to stand hastily. “I gotta go! You want to walk back together?”

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.” Y/n smiles at him and Dream nods. It is reaching midnight and Dream knows he’ll be in trouble for being out so late.

After he bids goodbye to Y/n, Dream begins his journey home. He hears wolves howling from behind the walls that surround the castle and goosebumps rise on his skin. It’s expectantly silent for the time of night, the only sound being animals as they scavenge.

Dream’s footsteps are heavy on the pathway back to the castle, and his heart rate picks up at the sound of trees rustling. With his head on a swivel, Dream spins around to face the bush. He sucks his lips between his teeth and continues, checking back every once in a while, to make sure he isn’t being followed.

He sees the grand entrance of the castle and his feet quicken. There’s a sudden whoosh behind him and then a breeze. A twig snaps in the distance and instead of running, he slows down. Dream forces himself to calm down—he’s only scaring himself.

“Dream~” A voice sings into the wind. The tune has Dream sprinting to the doors, his heart beating out of his chest. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard.

The wooden doors are heavy as he pushes them open before he stumbles inside. Dream is quick to close them once more, locking them in the process. He’s safe now, right?

A sliver of white ripped fabric floats in the wind on a spike outside of his window. Dream eyes it suspiciously, that wasn’t there last night.

He stretches his arms out, his joints cracking as his stare remains trained on the material. An uneasy feeling rises in his chest before his bedroom door opens suddenly.

“Clay~” His assistant, George, sings. He holds a tray in his hands and a beaming smile on his face. “Breakfast!”

“Hi.” At Dream’s wavering voice, George places the tray on the table and stalks over to the Prince.

“What’s wrong?” He sits on Dream’s bed and tries to meet his gaze.

“Somebody’s after me, George,” Dream whispers, his fearful eyes are staring into George’s.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Well, we have to inform the King and Queen at once, Clay!”

Dream shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine; besides, I’m inside the castle for most of the day anyways. There’s no way anybody like that could get in.”

George goes to interject but knows better than to do so. He trusts Dream, more than anyone else; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Right?

“Ok… but if anything happens, you tell me. Got it?” George says his voice stern. Dream hasn’t heard this tone since he attempted to run from the castle last year after an argument with his parents. George had been scared out of mind when his best friend—the prince—was reported missing.

“Has this got anything to do with Y/n, perhaps?” Dream is bewildered that George would say such a thing. “No! I trust Y/n. She could never do such a thing.”

George nods timidly and apologises before he stands. “Breakfast is on your desk. I’ll be back later to collect the plates.”

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he watches George sulk. Why does Y/n worry him so much?

—

Dream walks in the moonlight along the high walls that surround the castle. If anybody knew he was out at this hour, he’d be in so much trouble. It wasn’t that his parents didn’t trust him; it was everybody else.

When he was younger, a groundskeeper had led him outside the gates with the intent to sell him off. The experience had left Dream untrusting to many, and although he was much older now, much more robust, he had a hard time getting to know people.

An owl hoots from the tree above him and the moon hangs behind its body, casting a shadow onto the dirt beneath. The silhouette is ghostly, and the sight makes the creature look much more sinister than it is.

Dream stops in his place and watches as the owl hops along the thick branch, the rustling of the leaves distracting him for a moment. The bird then pauses and turns to look at him. Dream smiles softly and whispers, “Hi, little owl.”

Much to his surprise, the owl actually hoots back. The sound makes Dream’s eyes widen as he continues to speak quietly to the bird.

A twig snapping behind him causes the owl to flap its wings and shoot off into the night, making Dream frown. He sighs before turning around with the intent of going back to the castle. He’s been out for long enough anyway.

His mind drifts to Y/n. He wonders where she is, his heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of her. It is ridiculous really, how quickly he’s fallen for a girl he only met a few weeks ago. But he knows she’s different from the princesses his family has tried to set him up with. Y/n is different in the sense that she actually makes him nervous—lovestruck, even.

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches Dream’s attention, and then he turns to his right to face the noise.

“Dream.” A voice says.

Dream freezes. His heart picks up speed as he’s met with a person, a mask covering their face. His hands begin to shake as the person draws closer.

As they approach him, Dream can tell it’s a woman. As sexist as it is, he knows he could take her if they were to engage in a fight. Dream scolds himself at the thought, and his frightened expression goes slack.

“Who are you?” He exclaims, pushing his hair from his eyes to get a better look.

“I’m here on orders from someone to kill you.”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. He knew it.

“I know.”

The girl stops in her place. “How?”

“I could feel it,” Dream gulps. “It’s happened before.”

The girl nods and lifts her arm. Dream squints into the darkness to see what she is doing before he’s being pushed backwards. He stumbles slightly before he regains balance and begins running.

“Dream~” The girl sings, her voice slightly distorted. Dream hears her loud and clear as he leaps over tree roots and dirt mounds.

“Leave me alone!”

She laughs and picks up speed behind him. Dream is shocked by how quickly she’s gaining on him, but he persists, nonetheless. A crooked smirk spreads across his cheeks as he looks back at her.

“I can’t do that.”

Dream’s lungs and throat burn as he draws in breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and his knees begin to buckle as he prepares his arms to catch him when he falls. He doesn’t run much. But despite the pain, a sly grin continues to play on his lips.

Dream’s feet give way below him, and then he’s tumbling onto the freshly mown grass. He’s run a long way, now lying in the garden rather than being in the forest. The moon sits high in the sky and shines down on him intensely.

And although he’s scared for his life, Dream can’t help but feel a little relieved. He moves to sit back on his heels as the girl comes up in front of him, a dagger drawn in her hand. It’s like a game to both of them.

“I’ve got you now, Dream,”

“It seems you do.”

The masked girl’s dagger presses firmly against his throat. The blade gleams in the moonlight, and the pressure elicits a groan from him.

Dream smiles as a drop of blood cascades down his chest. He enjoys the feeling a little more than he should, and the glint in her eye shows him that she does too. Why are her eyes so familiar?

“But I’ll spare you.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrow as he watches her pull her knife away from his neck and shove it back into the slot in her boot. “Why?”

The girl sighs, her arms relaxing by her side. “Because I—something’s telling me I should.”

She turns on her heel, looking around before she ducks into the line of trees behind them.

Dream exhales deeply, relieved—the small cut on his throat stinging as he tilts his head up to stare at the moon. He’s vulnerable in this position; on his knees and unarmed. Who would spare the prince if they had the perfect chance to kill him? What made her change her mind?

In his conversation with the moon, Dream thinks about the girl’s eyes and why they were so familiar to him—and why she spared him. He squints at the full moon, begging for answers, trying to remember where he’d seen such beauty.

His dazed smile is quickly wiped from his lips, and the realisation knocks the oxygen out of his lungs, and soon he’s gasping for air and clawing his chest—it’s Y/n.

Dream sits at the long dining table with a new plate of eggs and turkey.

“Dreamy, darling, are you going to eat?” The Queen asks, her head lolling to the side as she talks to her son.

Dream’s lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not that hungry.”

Y/n was on the verge of killing him last night.

“Oh? Are you feeling okay?”

Dream then nods, resting his cheek in his palm. His hair is messy, and his clothes remain skewed from sleeping. He usually didn’t present himself like this at breakfast.

“Yes, perfectly fine. I’m sorry for not looking presentable this morning.”

His mother sighs, her hand reaching out to grasp his free one. “That’s alright.”

Dream gives her a tight-lipped smile and squeezes her hand. He notes that her ring finger is bare but decides against saying anything.

“Where’s dad?” He asks instead. His mother stills, her face unreadable as she nods once.

“He had to leave this morning—business in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t speak and lifts his hand, picking up his fork. The action elicits a soft smile from his mother. He stabs a slice of grilled turkey and brings it to his mouth.

—

“Clay!”

At the sound of his name, Dream turns around.

It’s after breakfast and Dream stands in the corner of the ballroom gazing out of the large windows that look onto the back garden. The head cook, and one of his best friends, Nick, is approaching him. “Nick?”

His friend laughs, untying his apron from behind his back before he lays it over the end of one of the sofas. Dream steps forward to embrace Nick in a hug. “How have you been?”

Nick contemplates his answer before he responds. “Flippin’ awesome.” Dream’s jaw goes slack at the cooking pun and chuckles.

“Ha, ha. SO funny.”

The pair pull away, and Dream faces the window again. The sapphire butterflies that flutter around the apple tree outside bring him a sense of comfort as Nick comes up beside him. The pair bask in warmth from the sun, the window making it much hotter than it is.

“I’ve missed you, man. The kitchen’s been boring without you sneaking in.” Nick frowns and Dream feels his stomach drop. He takes a glance at the shorter man and sighs.

“I’m sorry, bro. George said it’s ideal for me not to sneak around at night because—”

Dream’s breath hitches in his throat, eliciting a cough. Nick shoots him a look. “Because of what?”

“Erm—uh, I guess there’s somebody after me.”

“What? Really?”

Dream nods, wiping his nose with his fist. Nick struggles to find the words to say. “You don’t need to say anything; I don’t expect you to. I just thought I should let you know.”

Nick exhales deeply, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Dream whispers. The two of them stand in silence as they watch the insects fly around in the sunlight. “Come here.”

Then Dream’s pulling Nick into another hug. This time, their embrace means something, and Dream knows it’ll be one of the last times he sees his best friend. Be safe. I love you.

A sniffle from Nick prompts Dream to push him away at arm's length, his hands resting on his shoulders. The younger man complains about how embarrassing it is seeing him cry, but Dream shakes his head in assurance. “It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so; I can’t imagine this place without you.”

Dream sits on his bed, silently. He recalls the events from last night and exhales deeply. A million questions run through his mind as he shifts positions, now choosing to lay on his back and stare at the high ceiling. His fingertips come up to brush the scabbing cut on his neck.

Why did he somewhat enjoy the blade against his neck? Why wasn’t he scared when it pierced his skin? Would he tell George? But most of all, why was Y/n after him? He trusted her–didn’t he?

A sudden knock on his bedroom door and the quiet sweep of paper against wood brings him from his screaming mind. He sits up abruptly, spotting the piece of parchment on the timber floor. Dream glances out of the window quickly and goes to snatch it from the ground.

The crinkling of paper is loud as he rushes to open it.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at noon.

Dream’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. Y/n wants to meet with him. Would she mention what happened last night? Does she know he knows it’s her? Is she planning to kill him right now?

Another knock makes him jump. But this time, it opens.

“Clay?”

“George!” Dream exclaims, pulling his assistant by his sleeve into the room, the door closing behind them.

“Uh, yes?” George is confused at Dream’s jagged movements. Dream shoves the letter into the older boy’s hands and waits for his reaction. When George doesn’t reply, Dream rolls his eyes.

“It’s from Y/n!”

“Well, you have to go.”

Dream is both shocked and relieved. “I have to go?”

George nods. He reads over the letter one last time before he gives it back to Dream. George squints when he notices his friend’s slightly pink cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?”

Dream immediately coughs in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. George keeps his eyes on him as he does so, screwing his lips up in slight irritation that somebody can make Dream flustered.

“Oh! Do you have a crush?” George teases, although it’s more of an accusation than a joke. Dream laughs, shoving him away. George chooses to ignore the tugging at his heart when he hears the Prince giggle like that.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.” Dream jokes, patting his friend on the back. But is he really joking?

“Kill you?”

Dream laughs, spinning on his heel whilst shrugging. “Kill me.”

“Did you speak to Nick this morning?” George asks, his fake smile flipping into a frown. The mood drops immediately, all laughs, and carelessness forgotten.

Dream nods. “I told him how I think somebody’s after me again. He looked pretty scared.”

“He was worried when I told him you wanted to talk to him about it.” George tilts his head and sighs.

“...It’s nearly noon. I better get going.” Dream deflects the topic, choosing to stand tall once more. He doesn’t want George to suspect anything’s wrong with Y/n, so he puts on a false façade, a smile stretching across his cheeks.

George doesn't say anything and tries to make his smile believable as he opens Dream’s bedroom door for him. “Have fun, I guess.”

The younger man practically skips out of the room, and when he is halfway down the hallway, he turns. “What was it that you needed, George? When you knocked before?”

George dismisses his question. “Not important. Now, go!”

Although, to George, it is crucial, and now he has missed his chance.

—

Dream’s boots slap the cobblestone steps as he makes his way up the tower. He peers around the corner, wary of his movements as he goes. When he reaches the top, he cautiously tiptoes to the balcony. His hand goes to trace the scab forming on his neck and forgets it when he hears her.

“Clay?” Her voice is soft, holding much more kindness than it did when she had a blade to his throat. “Y/n.”

He sees her perched on a picnic mat, a basket next to her. Dream tilts his head as he watches her stand and approaches him. Her arms wrap around his neck in a hug and then he’s hugging her back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” She laughs, pulling back slightly to admire his face. “I missed you today.” Dream gives a muffled noise of agreement into her shoulder.

Y/n steps back and squints at his neck. “What happened?” Her fingers delicately feel the wound before Dream dodges her.

“Nothing, nothing. What’s all this?”

She appears to overlook his shitty deflection and motions towards the place where she was sitting. “I made us a picnic.”

The way she smiles almost makes Dream forget who she is. He forces a smile back, his heart aching at the realisation of reality. She’ll kill him soon.

“I baked a cake for you, vanilla—you said that was your favourite, right?” Y/n’s anxious actions worry Dream as he sits down next to her. He lifts his head to look out over the land, and the view is breath-taking.

“Woah,” He breathes.

Y/n smiles brightly at him, glancing at the green hills and blue skies before she focuses on cutting a slice of cake.

“You know, I never really admired this view until I met you.” Dream confesses—and it’s true. Y/n pauses, gazing at him as he turns towards her.

“Really?”

He nods, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her. She truly is gorgeous. “You’re pretty.”

Y/n’s eyes widen, and she feels her cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you, Clay. You’re pretty too.” Her hair falls in front of her face as she looks down, and Dream feels a pang in his heart.

“Have some cake,” Y/n mumbles, handing him a napkin with the dessert placed on it. The sweet looks delectable, and Dream can’t wait to take a bite—unless…

“You know what? I’m not that hungry, actually. But the cake looks delicious. Thank you.” Y/n furrows her eyebrows, and a look of hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.”

She hurries to take it back from him, but he refuses to give it to her. “What are you doing?” She asks.

Dream motions for her to cut another piece, “I’ll only eat if you do.”

Y/n nods slowly, moving the knife to slice into the cake once more. She flips it onto another napkin and brings it towards her mouth.

“What? You think it’s poisonous?” Y/n laughs, watching as Dream becomes flustered. “No!”

His response is quick and cautious, but Y/n doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a bite of her piece of cake. Dream watches as she chews and swallows, earning a confused glance from her. Nothing happens.

“Well, I didn’t drop dead. Your turn,” She laughs, hurt still evident on her features. Dream feels guilty. He holds the cake surprisingly firmly, bringing it to his lips. His heart races as he puts it between his teeth and bites down. The cake is very sweet, and it’s good. Dream catches Y/n’s eye as he eats, giving her a nod of approval. She smiles widely and visibly relaxes.

The action calms something in Dream, too. He finishes off his cake and waits for Y/n to do the same. He sees some white frosting fall onto the bodice of her dress, the sugary mixture tumbling down onto her skirt. The girl doesn’t seem to notice as she licks the remaining icing off her fingers.

“Uh—Y/n, you got some—uh,” Dream motions to her skirt, and watches as she sighs deeply. “Awww, I just washed these.”

Dream stifles a giggle when Y/n scrunches her nose up and goes to wipe it off. As small as the action is, Dream’s heart skips a beat at her cute expression. He scolds himself for feeling such this way; she tried to kill you last night.

He eyes the knife next to the basket, sweet frosting covering the blade. The growing desire to grab it and ram it right through her chest burns in his mind, but he holds back. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, Dream is terrified of himself.

He shakes the deranged through from his head. What was that?

Dream watches as Y/n shoves the used napkin into the basket and lifts her eyes to meet his. He smiles softly, causing Y/n to cover her face with her hands. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He laughs, reaching to poke her in the ribs. Y/n yelps quietly, jolting when he shocks her side. “Stop making me flustered. It’s hardly polite.”

Dream stops, the tips of his ears reddening. He makes her nervous? “Oh, come on now.”

The rasp in his voice makes Y/n freeze. She peers at him through her fingers and sees him smirking at her. She lets out a high-pitched sound and returns her hands over her eyes. As much as Dream hates to admit it, there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Clay, I’m going to take my hands away from my eyes now, and you better not say anything suggestive.”

Dream chuckles, extending his arms out to grasp her fingers and pull them down. She doesn’t meet his gaze as he holds her hands in her lap. Birds chirp and fly past the balcony, their singing being a perfect addition to the atmosphere the pair had created.

They don’t say anything as they lean closer. Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he sees Y/n do the same.

“Prince Clay, the Queen would like to see you in the castle.”

The two of them are still at the sound of another. George stands at the top of the stairs, a scroll in his right hand. Dream rolls his eyes in annoyance, throwing Y/n an apologetic look as he releases her hands. “Thanks, George.”

“I—I’ll see you later?” Y/n whispers as she watches Dream clamber up to his full height. He nods hastily, not giving her a second look, and rushes out behind George. He feels her stare on the back of his skull but continues.

Y/n sits in silence as the clanging of the wooden door downstairs slams against the stone walls. The chirping of the birds outside dies down, and she frowns.

As much as she’s supposed to detest Dream, Y/n feels butterflies cluster in her stomach at the mere thought of him. The idea of killing him causes the butterflies to turn to spiders and makes Y/n feel sick. She can’t go through with this—not now, not ever.

—

“Dre—Clay.”

Dream freezes; his mother only uses his real name when things are serious. He nods once, prompting his mother to continue.

“Your father has yet to return to the kingdom from his trip to L’Manberg. However, plans have changed, and it seems he’ll be there longer than expected.” The Queen’s voice is steady but has undertones of utter sadness, which Dream picks up on instantly.

“Why?” He asks.

“He gave me a straight answer; business.”

Dream doesn’t say nor does anything. Instead, he remains still. His lack of response earns a reaction from his mother, however. “What is it?”

“Is it why you don’t wear your ring anymore?” Dream refuses to meet her eye, afraid he’ll upset her more than he already has with his question.

The Queen inhales sharply, glancing at her hand before she composes herself. “Yes.”

Her voice is just above a whisper, but Dream catches it. His heart clenches, and then he finally meets her watery eyes.

Dream’s hard exterior breaks as he wraps his arms around his mother. He uses his finger to usher the guards and assistants out of the room and then rests his hand on the back of her hair in an attempt to quiet her soft cries.

He tries his best to be strong for her, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

The room is far too silent for Dream’s liking, and he wishes for something to happen to break it.

And something does. The slam of the double doors makes the pair jump, Dream spinning around to see who had interrupted.

Y/n stands there, the same picnic basket in her hand. “I’m sorry for intruding!”

Dream’s mother quickly wipes under her eyes and places her usual people-pleasing smile on. “What can I do for you, darling?”

Y/n walks further into the room, glancing at Dream momentarily before opening the basket in front of the Queen.

“I brought you some berries. I was speaking to Dream earlier, and he told me you loved strawberries. So, I picked some for you, myself.” Her smile is deceiving, Dream can tell, but it’s also warming, and kind and his chest aches at the sight of it.

The Queen gasps, her hands going to take the basket from Y/n. She peers in and sees it full to the brim with the berries. “Oh my,”

Y/n’s smile grows, her eyes meeting Dream’s. Although he knows her true intentions, he’s extremely grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” His mother beams. She turns around and starts walking towards another door behind them.

Once the door closes, Y/n grins at Dream, and he smiles back. His heart twists in his chest, and his eyes burn with tears. Oh, how silly I am, he thinks.

The next time Dream sees Y/n, and she’s under the wooden bridge in the garden, her hair and undergarments drenched. The sun burns intensely down on his neck as he approaches her.

Y/n watches the lake rush under her, the odd fish jumping out and diving back into the freezing water. It’s a harsh contrast to the weather outside, swelteringly hot and humid, but Y/n doesn’t pay any mind when she contemplates going for a swim.

She jogs off the bridge and circles back around to shuffle down the steep, grass bank. Butterflies flutter majestically around her, enhancing the experience of being in an actual kingdom rather than a desert village—it's magical.

Y/n’s eyes dart around before her hands tend to her back to untie her bodice. She sucks on her bottom lip, and she does so, the process takes far too long.

Throwing the structured clothing to the grass, she then moves to her top skirt, pulling it up over her head. Her heeled boots and frilly socks are the last things to remove and then Y/n is left standing in a plain cream skirt and button-up.

She pays no attention to her surroundings as she lifts her remaining skirt and dips her toes into the icy lake, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the temperature.

From here, Y/n can see that the middle of the lake is the deepest point; the bottom is nowhere in sight through the clear water.

Y/n doesn’t think twice as she leaps into the middle, her entire body submerging under the surface. Her senses are shocked, and her throat closes at the sudden chill. Y/n claws at the water to reach the surface, and then she feels the sun on her cheeks. She takes a large breath and wipes her eyes.

“Y/n?” The girl turns towards the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Clay?” She smiles. He runs down the bank and towards the water, although he stops before he can dive in.

“What are you doing?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “Swimming.”

Dream rolls his eyes, “Obviously!”

This elicits a giggle from Y/n as she swims to the edge, her clothes drenched and her heavy makeup running down her face.

“Hi,” Y/n says as she draws closer. Dream tries fighting a smile at the sight of her in her undergarments. He feels the tips of his ears redden. “I don’t care if you see me like this, Clay.”

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his hands for her cheeks. He thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. But the rising impulse to push her head under the water and never let her up is powerful. Once his fingertips brush her cheek, his breathing becomes laboured and clenches his jaw. She tried to kill you.

Y/n notices him vacantly staring at her and waves her hand in front of his eyes. “Clay?”

Dream’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Instead, Y/n swears, she sees his green eyes darken. His hands move from her cheeks to her shoulders, and his grip tightens. Y/n’s face scrunches in uncertainty, and she tries to shift from under his secure hold. Dream’s glare turns wicked as she continues to withdraw. “Clay? Stop, you’re scaring me.”

His head cocks to the side mockingly, his arms going to push her shoulders down. Y/n losing footing on the rocks under her feet and her neck reaches the water. She claws hastily at his hands, and soon she’s gulping mouthfuls of the icy water. Dream shows no signs of stopping until the sound of her screams brings him from his empty glare. “S-Stop it-t!”

“Y/n?”

Dream blinks, and his face softens. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Y/n struggling to keep her head above the water and grips under her armpits to pull her to stand again. Dream becomes increasingly worried as he sees tears running down her cheeks instead of lake water and makeup, opening his mouth to pour out apologies.

Y/n stays silent, her eyes shooting from his gaze to the water. She is confused and scared. Questions run through her mind at a million miles per second. Why? Why, why, why? Does he know why she is actually here? Does he know her true intentions? Did he just try and drown her?

“What’s your problem?” Y/n yells, scrambling up the edge of the lake and towards her dry clothes. Dream says nothing. Why did he do that?

“I—I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Maybe it wasn’t her who had a dagger to his throat all that time ago. Perhaps she’s just a normal girl.

Y/n snarls at him, her top lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The words shock Dream back into reality. “No! No, no.”

“Yes. Now, leave me alone, Clay.” Y/n spits as she gathers her clothes and stomps back towards the castle.

Dream stays crouching next to the lake. He stares at his reflection in the water. It twists and turns into a horrible creature baring sharp teeth and dark, dark eyes. He shakes his head instantly; the reflection swirling back into himself.

What is going on?

—

The fire almost burns Y/n’s icy hands as she inches closer to the flame. With her dry clothes on, her hair is still wet, and it drips down the back of her bodice and skirts, making her even colder; Y/n regrets not drying her hair before she got dressed.

As she stares into the fire, Dream’s void expression and evil eyes eat away at her conscience, making her squeeze her eyes shut at the thought.

“You,”

The sound of a singular word makes Y/n turn around. George, Dream’s assistant, stands in front of her. His hard eyes are glaring at her as she cocks her head. “George?”

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” He spits, backing away slowly. Y/n's face shifts to one of shock, her hands shaking in at her sides.

“Kill him? I would never do such a thing! If anything, he tried to kill me half an hour ago! At the bridge!”

George scoffs, inching his hand towards the fire poker that leans against the brick fireplace next to him. “You know, you really need to work on your coyness, Y/n.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her teeth chattering as she does so. “You’re ridiculous, George. I love him despite his mistakes.”

The man lets out a grunt. “You don’t!”

Y/n steps back at his sudden aggressiveness. She sees the fire poker in his whitening knuckles and then stares at him in bewilderment. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself or me.”

A sinister laugh escapes George’s throat as he brings the sharp object up to her face, “Oh, I’m definitely going to hurt you. You’re not going anywhere near Clay, again.”

At his sentence, Y/n stills, and her concerned expression falls slack. She’s done this more times than she can count. Her cold hands intertwine in front of her stomach as a look of confusion crosses George’s face.

“Listen, I came here to do one thing, and whether or not that plan has changed is none of your business,” Y/n says her stare never wavering.

She hates to make it so vague, but she knows if he told him the truth, she’d be dead either way—whether that be by George and his fire poker, or by Wilbur Soot and his many friends that could have her head on a pitchfork at any given moment.

George narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying.”

She shrugs; Y/n knows not to show fear; it would only motivate him more.

The end of the poker is dangerously close to her face, and George sighs before he lowers it. “You love him?”

Y/n’s eyes soften, and she recoils slightly. She blinks slowly, her eyes coming to rest on her feet. Y/n hates showing emotion, choosing to spill everything in isolation rather than unveiling her vulnerability to potential threats.

George only nods and retreats, placing the poker back next to the fireplace. He hesitates before he speaks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. George drops his head and sighs, his heart shattering at the mere thought of Dream, returning her feelings.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I know one thing; I’ve never seen Clay like this before, so please don’t hurt him. I can tell he cares about you, dearly.” He refuses to meet Y/n’s eye as he turns to exit.

She becomes wary of his sudden change in mood but decides against asking him any questions as she sees the tail of his dress coat float around the corner of the doorframe.

George almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into Dream’s bedroom the next morning. The sunlight had only just begun to flood the kingdom, the clock on the wall showing 6:18 am.

“Why are you already up? Who are you?” George jokes approaching his best friend. Dream sits hunched over his desk, his quill hurrying over a piece of parchment. George furrows his brows at the strange behaviour but chooses to ignore it as he pulls a chair beside Dream.

The younger man stops his actions and glances at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

George pales. “I—uh, just wanted to see what you are doing.” Dream throws him a dirty look before he angles his body away.

George bites the inside of his cheek, his body filling with rage at Dream’s attitude. “What’s your deal?”

Dream stills; George has never spoken to him like that before. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Clay! Why are you so secretive all of a sudden? You always tell me what’s going on.”

The Prince doesn’t seem to notice the absolute heartbreak and sadness in his assistant’s voice and clenches his fists. “Just fuck off, George! You’re my assistant, not my friend. I only call you when I need you. Got it?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. George feels his entire body tingle as it falls numb, his stomach turning sickly. He watches as Dream huffs and turns back to his piece of paper, like a child; his arm covering the page and his other scribbling down words or exactly that—scribbles.

It takes everything in George to stand up and leave. His legs are jelly as he wobbles out; his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He shuts Dream’s bedroom door quietly, not anger him further, and runs down the hall towards his own room.

The halls are silent, not a soul in sight but the broken one that floats behind George while he tries to swallow choked sobs.

He hops down a few stairs, and then he’s pushing his door open, slamming it behind him in total defeat. He slides down the back of it, his hands coming to cover his flushed face. George scratches at his chest as he struggles to quieten the sound of his laboured breathing and hiccups. His heartbeat stutters within his ribcage—but that’s the least of his worries.

This is the suffering of complete and utter heartbreak, and now George knows how it feels after three years of dreading it. He screws his eyes shut, in hopes of stopping the tears and forces himself to calm down.

He loves Clay as more than a friend—this he knows is true. But, George scolds himself for being so foolish for thinking the Prince would reciprocate his one-sided love.

And as the air fills his lungs, George stops. He holds his breath for as long as he can—the burning of his body screaming for him to breathe is the only thing he feels. He’s lightheaded as he gazes out of the window opposite him. The oak trees rustle in the dawn breeze, and it's tranquil. He feels his heart clench in his chest and then an unbearable searing pain that he can only compare to tossing your body into a fire and feeling it melt your skin.

The world is peaceful as he continues to let his body ignite and soon dwindle into nothing.

And as the sun rises higher, his body slumps lower onto the ground, his eyes glassy and still staring out at the garden.

—

Meet me in the garden at dusk.

Her fingers trace the outline of the scraggly letters. Dream’s letter is vague, with no real meaning and nothing to indicate why he wants to meet. Usually, George delivered Dream’s letters to Y/n, but today it was rushed to her by another servant from the castle. Weird.

Y/n squints closer at the letter; she can see how hard Dream drove the quill into the paper by the letters’ slightly ripped edges. Leaning closer, the smell of lavender seeps through the parchment. There are no lavender plants in the garden.

Instead of going unprepared, Y/n reaches into the desk drawer and retrieves her dagger. She brings it towards her face and tilts it in the light, the metal reflecting into her eyes. Lifting her skirts on one side, Y/n shoves the knife into the case clasped around her thigh. It's subtle and easy to get to if needed.

Y/n sighs, reading over the letter one last time before she walks towards the fire in the corner. She tosses it into the flames, watching as reds and oranges engulf the paper.

She knows what comes next. If Dream wants her to meet him, then she’ll do it, but she also has to go through with her duties whether she likes it or not.

Y/n draws nearer to the garden, her eyes darting around the trees in hopes—or in fear—of seeing Dream. The sun burns in the distance, begging to say goodbye for the day as it watches the girl tiptoe over tree roots.

Once she enters the area enclosed by stone walls and arches, tears gather in Y/n’s eyes when she sees him, her heartstrings pulling violently in her chest. Dream stands on the other side of the garden, the thorns from the rose bush piercing his dress pants. Y/n remains frozen under one of the stone arches at the garden’s entrance, her dagger prominent in its case around her thigh.

His cold stare meets her cautious eyes and his face does nothing to soothe her nerves like it usually does. Instead, his stern expression stirs panic around in her stomach and makes her feel ill. Y/n abandons her original plan to stay withdrawn from the situation because once she sees him, she breaks.

“I can’t kill you, Clay!”

Dream freezes at her sudden shout. The pain in her voice makes him clench his jaw, and soon he’s approaching her. “What?”

Y/n inhales sharply, her breath hitching in her throat before she continues. “You know that I came here to kill you, you figured it out! And now I can’t go through with it.”

“Why?” Dream’s glare challenges her.

“Don’t make me answer that,”

“Y/n,”

“Clay.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her fists tense by her sides. Dream’s blunt tone is the last thing she needs to suppress her feelings further. “Because I hate you and I can’t possibly assassinate you when I have feelings like that—it’s immoral.”

He scoffs at her horrible excuse. “If you truly hate me, I would’ve been dead the first second you saw me. Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

Y/n could scream—in frustration, in anger, in heartbreak. She wants to stand on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and scream about how much she loves him; scream about how much she hates him; scream about how she would go to the ends of the earth for a man she is supposed to murder.

“Leave me, Clay. I need to be alone.”

With the shake of his head, Dream steps closer. “You love me; that’s why. It took me a while to realise, but I know now. And the worst part is, I love you too.”

The confession has Y/n panicking. Her eyes widen, and her hands scramble to snatch the knife from her thigh—but Dream’s quicker. He leaps towards her, his body colliding with hers as they stumble onto the grass. Y/n’s dagger presses against his neck, but there’s one against hers too.

An unfamiliar panic runs through Y/n as she feels a blade across her throat, but she keeps a hard exterior. The deadly look in Dream’s eye catches Y/n off guard as she pushes her knife firmly. A split appears on his skin—his blood dripping onto her neck, making him readjust his grip on his own dagger.

His mother’s face flashes through Dream’s mind while he swallowed thickly. He apologises in his thoughts as he glares at Y/n.

The heat of his hot blood on her skin is unlike anything Y/n’s felt before; maybe it’s the bloodlust or something else, but Dream notices.

Y/n opens her lips to speak but is stopped when he leans down to press his mouth against hers. The kiss is contrastingly soft compared to the incredibly vulnerable and intense position they’re in. Dream’s skin burns where the cut is and feels it grow as he leans closer to her face. Y/n gasps when she feels metal pierce her skin, and soon they’re whispering into each other’s lips.

The end is near. And as Y/n stares into Dream’s enchanting, sinister eyes, she reaches.

She reaches for the release she’s been begging for since she met him. She’s desperate to feel him one last time—in love and not hate. There's one final strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can see her dying love for him seep through her ever-growing bloodlust and absolute inhumanity.

But he doesn’t. And the same devilish grin he wore when she had a blade to his throat for the first time splits his red cheeks. The twinkle in her eye tells him she feels it too, and then her teeth bare a vile smirk.

“I’ll love you forever, Clay.”

“Forever is the sweetest con, my love.”

There are dull sweeps of blades across skin, and then there’s silence.

Excruciating, deafening nothingness.

And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Y/n and Clay’s hands intertwine, not once sparing a glance back at their bodies that lay cold on the cobblestone pathway.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

#dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dream au #dreamwastaken au #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #nightmare dressed like a daydream!au #ndlad!au #dream x reader #dream imagine

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saylors-universe · 3 years

Text

All Hands on Deck, one

Rowaelin Cruise Vacation AU

Masterlist here

rowaelin cruise ship vacation AU

word count: 1661

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You did WHAT!" Aelin screams over the phone. If she wasnʻt currently visiting her cousin in Terrasen, she would be in Elide and Manonʻs apartment, conducting this band meeting. But of course the Gods deemed her worthy of divine punishment – for what, she has no clue.

"Come on Ae,” Elide pleads over the call, "think of it as an engagement gift for Lorcan and I."

"Okay one, I planned on getting YOU something, not that dick boyfriend of yours. And two, this is a job, not a present,” Aelin hisses. Remembering that she hadnʻt yet congratulated Elide on the very recent news.

Elide had grown up with Aelin and Aedion, pretty much being adopted into the family as another cousin. Aelin had witnessed all of the trials Elide had endured – maybe she was cursed by the Gods too.

"Fiance. Heʻs my dick fiance now,” Elide interrupts her train of thought, "and I donʻt know what happened with you two but heʻs honestly the sweetest and most caring guy ever,” getting cut off by Aelinʻs cackle on the other end of the line.

"To you maybe,” Aelin snorts, “god, if only you had gone to our high school Elide. Lorcan was such an ass to me and -," she caught herself, choking on his name.

"Rowan?" Elide blurts out, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Ye- how did y-," Aelin snaps, somewhat defensive. She knew Elide didnʻt understand the painful memories that came with that certain name.

"Lorcan told me about you guys,” Elide corroborates, “you know he resented you two for what you guys had,”

Ha! Aelin thought to herself, Lorcan, jealous? That doesnʻt excuse the asshole personality of his.

“he told me he had finally found that kind of love with me, and thatʻs when he knew I was the one and started planning the proposal." Aelin was happy for Elide, genuinely, and it is because of her love for the plainly beautiful brunette that she tolerates the prick.

Lorcan envied our relationship?

Quick memories of a silver head past love of hers crossed her mind without permission. Midnight drives where theyʻd sing songs theyʻd wrote for each other, a summer class trip across Europe where they shared their first "I love youʻs" in the late, romanticly lantern-lit streets of Rome. As quickly as they came, she banished them once again.

"Anyways," Elide continues, "itʻs a vacation, with only a few gigs. I mean weʻd only need to perform a couple of nights and the rest of the time is ours...

Plus, I managed to get the cruise director to upgrade our rooms for a small cut in our pay.”

She was met with silence, "Come on Aelin, Lys and Manon have already started packing,” Elide begs.

It was a great deal Aelin had to admit. A 21-day cruise trip, not only was it technically free for them, but they would actually be paid doing what they love - performing. She could see it now - Queenʻs Court live from the Great Seas.

They were a fairly new band but had already made some traction, making a name for themselves and enjoying the love from their wild fanbase. It would be nice to get away for a little while, Aelin contemplates. She canʻt remember the last time she did something crazy fun with her girls, besides their small concerts. It couldnʻt hurt.

"Alright, fine," she concedes. She doesnʻt quite know why she had been so hostile and reluctant to this great opportunity. It may have something to do with how she had always been the one to spring the surprise master plan on her friends, finally on the receiving end of it felt weird. "but you know I get seasick."

"Weʻll get you some of those seasickness patches,” Elide counters just as Lysandra snags the phone.

“Hey bitch,” their term of endearment, “is my hot ass boyfriend there with you?”

“Yeah one sec,” Aelin answers then pulls the phone away from her face to yell to her cousin in the other room. “AEDION, LYS AND I ARE HAVING PHONE SEX!”

Her twin of a cousin suddenly appears, putting the phone on speaker and taking a seat next to her on his living room couch. “Trying to steal my girlfriend are you?” He teases, sticking out his tongue to Aelin. “Whatʻs up baby?”

“Aedion weʻre going on a trip, a romantic cruise vacation, and before you say no, I already talked to Darrow and blackmailed him into giving you a month on leave,” Lysandra reveals over the phone. Aelinʻs fairly handsome cousin raises a brow in question to her, “so I expect to see both of you packed and ready at Wendlyn port at the end of the week,” Lys demands.

“Yes maʻam,” Aedion complies. The poor man was so whipped by the dazzling woman, he would follow her to the depths of hell. Aelin was glad they found eachother, they both deserve to be happy.

“Good. I just got new thongs today that I want to show you. Ooh! And we can try those new posit-,” Lys continues not realizing that she is on speaker. Aelin, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, looks over to see Aedionʻs reddened cheeks and wide eyes.

“HERE. Iʻm still here!” Aelin gawks before she overhears any more of this intimate and awkward conversation. “Get a room you two.”

Lysandra chuckles, “how about a romantic cabin suite. Gosh Iʻm so excited, this is going to be so much fun,” Lysandra beams. And just like that Queenʻs Court packed their bags and instruments, preparing to embark on this new adventure.

——————————————————————————

Something had to be wrong, Lorcan never calls band meetings. Rowan internally reviewed every conversation heʻs had with the rigid bandmate of his to determine a possible source of this abrupt meeting. He recalled that Lorcan had just recently proposed to his girlfriend that he never talks about, is it possible for it to have gone awry? If so, why would he feel the need to share it with the band, heʻs normally super private? No, something else had to be wrong. Rowan got situated on the couch, across from the twins, Fenrys and Connal, perplexed by the expression on the standing drumerʻs face.

Was that a smirk? Rowan had never seen Lorcanʻs genuine smile in all the years he had known him. It had been hard enough to get the man to talk about his personal life, let alone express his feelings. Itʻs a miracle that somehow this girlfriend of his had cracked through his thick walls.

"Alright boys," Lorcan opens, "I got us a gig."

"Uh- isnʻt that Gavrielʻs job" the normally quiet Connal pitches in.

And from the rare, conspicuous grin on Lorcanʻs face, Rowan deduced that their booking agent Gavriel was just recently informed of this sudden plan of Lorcan's and took care of all the details himself.

"What is it?" the other twin, Fenrys, chimes in.

"A tour ... overseas. Really itʻs actually 3 weeks of vacation, on a cruise, and a few nights of shows,” Lorcan tells the group, “the cruise line hasnʻt been getting as much traffic as they normally do so they thought a popular band for entertainment would bring in some audience."

For Lorcan, not only was this input very abnormal, but also pretty genius. Not only would it be like their normal concerts with the generous pay, ambitious audience, and regular groupies that followed them anywhere - but they also would get a few weeks of vacation and free food. It would be nice to travel again and get out of Doranelle for a little bit, Rowan imagined.

"3 weeks of hot chicks in bikinis, music, AND alcohol,” Fenrys smiled, “thatʻs all you had to say,” as he looks to the remaining bandmates, “weʻre in.”

"Well hold on a minute,” Rowan interjects, “whatʻs the catch?"

"No catch really, except weʻre not the only entertainment. We trade off nights with Elideʻs band. You see, weʻre planning this whole thing as an engagement/honeymoon trip because of both our tour schedules."

Rowan has never seen Lorcan this content and happy in all their years of friendship. Itʻs nice to see how much heʻs changed from their high school days. Godʻs Lorcan used to be such an ass to him and -. Before he knew what was happening images of her perfect blonde hair, strikingly beautiful turquoise gold eyes flashed across his mind. The sound of her laugh rung through his brain - the first time he heard that laugh he completely lost himself to her. Catching himself – he buried those memories deep down and focused his attention back on their current band meeting.

“Elideʻs in a band?” Fenrys inquired. Lorcan didnʻt share much about his girlfriend – now fiance I guess – he had always been very private about his life, even back during high school.

“Yeah, the Queenʻs Court, theyʻre pretty good, from what Iʻve heard so far – itʻs just El and a couple of her girlfriends” – like Aelin Galanthynius, Lorcan thought to himself.

Lorcan had worked hard to block his youth from memory, completely forgetting about his high school years. That was until Elide introduced him to her bandmates, and he was confronted by the very Aelin Galanthynius he bullied during school. He regrets all of his torment towards her now, but while not knowing if Aelin would be able to forgive him, he makes an effort to be civil towards the blonde nusiance, for Elideʻs sake.

“Sweet, a battle of the bands, you boys up for a little competition?” Fenrys proposes to the group, the three men just shrug. Taking the hint, Fenrys continues, “So what do you say boys? Will The Cadre take stage on the open seas? All in favor say ʻayʻ”

“Ay” “Ay” “I planned this fucking thing so obviously,”

After a few soft chuckles, Lorcan nods, “Then itʻs settled. See you boys at the docks,” as he ushers off quickly to his fiance in Wendlyn.

.......................

If you would like to be added to my tog taglist, just send me a message and lmk :)

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@smalltddygothgf @booksbqueen @underworldboxers @live-the-fangirl-life @booknerdproblems @rowaelinismyotp

#rowaelin #throne of glass #cruise #aelin whitethorn #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #lysandra #aedion x lysandra #elide x lorcan

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raeofgayshine · 3 years

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Charlie and Julius

For the anon who asked about Charlie and Julius:

This definitely got a lot longer than I intended, but I had a lot to say about them. So most of it will be under the read more. I do want to just put a few trigger warnings though. Nothing too in-depth, but there are mentions of: suicidal thoughts, character death (but not Charlie and Julius), a car crash, transphobia, and some less than great parenting (I think that’s everything, but if you need me to tag for anything else lmk).

And if you would like to know more about them, you can check out the tags for them, I’ve mentioned them a few times here and posts that remind me of them. Or feel free to send me questions because I love to talk about these two.They are best boys.

So Charlie Austin and Julius Dauer

- The two of them have been best friends since childhood. I kind of go back and forth on what age/how they met (As I've used them in several stories), but officially the pair met when they were 4, in pre-k. And they became best friends almost instantly. A friendship that was only solidified by the fact they lived down the street from each other, which meant frequent playdates, and as they got older, the two of them constantly visiting each other’s houses (Although they did tend to spend more time at Charlie's house as Julius's parents were always... busy)

- Ever since they were young the two always had a knack for getting into trouble, with Charlie usually spearheading the way and Julius all too happily following behind him.

- I honestly think of them almost akin to Phineas and Ferb in some regard. They definitely didn't get up to quite the scale of things those two did, mostly because they were scientists first and builders second. But like they were regularly creating explosions by age 8 and almost always challenging the laws of physics

- (When they're 15 they may or may not have created a slightly unstable device that uh, destroyed a large part of a (thankfully deserted) island. But at other times couldn't create an explosion that even like, knocked over a fence. It was... unpredictable. But they worked out the kinks eventually)

- In high school, their experiments earn them the title of "Mad Scientists", with many people citing that Charlie is often the "mad" part of the duo because of his general recklessness. But it's just Julius is far quieter about his ideas really.

But uh, we'll get to high school in a moment. Let's back up slightly, back to childhood.

- They got up to a lot of antics beyond their science experiments.

- I mentioned that Julius's parents weren't around much? It's a bit more complicated than that. I don't want to get into too many details because that will make this a very long post, but basically, Julius's parents did not get along hardly at all. They had vastly different parenting styles, but honestly they also just really did not like each other. His mom mentioned once they had only got married because she had gotten pregnant with Julius.

- Julius's mom traveled a lot. For work (and other things). She was hardly ever at the house, hardly spent time with Julius, but she did spoil him constantly in lavish gifts and would take his side in arguments only to piss off his dad. She always put on this show about loving him but also didn't know shit about him.

- Julius's dad on the other hand... Well, let's just say he never made any time to spoil his son. He hardly made time to pay attention at all, it seemed to Julius, except to tell him that he could "do better" and not so subtly encourage him to hang out with someone better than Charlie. His dad had a lot of high expectations for Julius, from a young age Julius was placed in piano, ballet, as well as classes for several other instruments (violin, cello, guitar. As he gets older Julius also learns how to play other instruments to varying degrees, but the only one he sticks with is the ukulele).

- Charlie had a habit of trying to cause trouble during Julius's lessons to scare off his various teachers, because he always thought it was too much pressure to place on a kid to do so much, and succeeds with most of them besides Julius's piano teacher. This is a big part of why Mr. Dauer does not like Charlie. He thinks he's a bad influence on Julius.

- It's not to say that Mr. Dauer doesn't care about Julius, it's just... he really wants Julius to be successful and get into an Ivy League school and have a good future. And he doesn't ever really understand he's pushing too much. He thinks because Julius is very smart and all of that, he can handle the pressure.

- But he does care. When Julius comes out as trans (at 16/17), and his mom reacts extremely badly, Mr. Dauer does take Julius's side. Even though he doesn't really believe Julius is trans and straight-up says he thinks it's a side effect of having so many guy friends, you know he is willing to let Julius continue going to the same school and ride out this "phase" because he had been doing a lot better since starting high school (At an all-boys school, although he was originally meant to go to the sister school) and as long as he kept his grades up, Mr. Dauer didn't really care.

- (And he does come around eventually to accepting Julius, but that takes quite a few years and it happens slowly over a long time).

- And you know, Mr. Dauer was the one who raised Julius after his parents split up. When Juls was 11, they got a divorce and his mom left without even caring to fight for him. Sent occasional gifts afterward but Julius hardly saw her except for a week over the summer and sometimes around the holidays, if his dad pushed for his mom to take him.

- On the other hand, Charlie had a very very close relationship with his parents. And in many regards his parents kind of adopted Julius a bit as a second kid. They were the polar opposite of Julius's family. Not perfect, but pretty fucking close

- Charlie and Julius were nearly inseparable growing up, as I mentioned. They were together all of the time, never saw one without the other close behind.

- Well, never saw them apart until they were 11. That's when Julius's parents got announced to him they were getting a divorce, and with very little warning Julius's dad informed him that they were moving.

- And Charlie was on vacation at the time. They never got a chance to say goodbye.

- Well, not fully. See, Julius wasn't stupid. He had heard his parents talking about getting a divorce, the pair fighting late into the night for over a week.

- Before Charlie left on vacation, Julius did a bit of goodbye. See, Charlie and Julius's favorite movie as kids was Winnie-The-Pooh, they were very attached to the characters. They even called each other Robin (Julius) and Bear (Charlie). So before Charlie left, Julius as sappy as he was, he just asked Charlie not to forget him. ("And Bear? Promise you won't forget me? Ever?" "Oh I won't Robin, I promise." "Not even when I'm 100?" "How old shall I be then?" "99. Silly old bear.")

- The next few years were hard for the two of them. You know, they were best friends, and without each other, both of them felt lost. Julius really struggled in school to keep up with the pressure put on him by his dad, without Charlie there to balance him out, it got really hard. And he never really made any new friends, he was too busy just trying to cling the fuck on, and not let other people notice just how much he was struggling. Because he didn't want to disappoint his dad.

- Things were... harder for Charlie in the end. He had other friends, kids on his soccer team, he was always outgoing and stuff, but never any as close as Julius. He probably would have been okay though but

- When Charlie was 12, his parents were killed in a car accident on the way to his soccer game. And Charlie walked away with a few cuts and bruises and a broken arm.

- Charlie wouldn't admit it, but for years he blamed himself for the death of his parents. It... took a few months for the guilt to hit him. For a while, he tries to push away the pain, the grief, the guilt. To the outside world, he seems to cope with it all remarkably well.

- He moves in with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He throws himself into school and into sports (Baseball, he couldn't do soccer anymore, not after...) and into student government, keeps himself busy all the time

- It's not enough. Of course, it's not enough. I mean, it's enough certainly to convince everyone else that he's doing okay. Charlie has always been really good about hiding his emotions from everyone who wasn't Julius (who was the only person Charlie ever let himself be vulnerable around). So no one seems to notice that Charlie has become suicidal. Living starts to be really hard for Charlie, and there's a point where the only thing that keeps him alive is that he doesn't want his aunt and uncle to have to find his body. He knows it's a problem, that he should tell someone, but he's too scared of how they'll react. And he doesn't really feel like he's worth being saved anyways. ("And the ghost of survivors guilt can be so kind")

- Besides, Charlie knows he just has to make it until he gets to high school. Knows that he'll be attending the private boarding school his dad and uncle both did come 9th grade. It's states away. If he could just make it there... well at least his family wouldn't have to find him.

- Of course, that plan all goes straight out the window when Charlie arrives and finds that his roommate is none other than Julius. And god knows Charlie definitely couldn't hurt Julius like that either.

- And Julius needed him. All it takes is one look for Charlie to see all the cracks in his best friend, the pressure from his dad combined with a newer fear of being outed to his parents, of being trans in general (because that was still new for Julius. He had only found the word less than a year ago. And the school was safe but... he was so scared. And he hadn't had anyone to talk to about it).

- So maybe it takes a little bit for Julius to really notice the cracks in Charlie as well. Charlie was, after all, the better of the pair of putting on a brave face. In fact, even as kids Julius had called Charlie his courage, and this hadn't changed. Julius breaks down the first time that they meet again, and Charlie becomes pretty much determined to... stay strong for Julius. ("This is not what I intended. I always swore to you I'd never fall apart. You always thought that I was stronger.")

- Charlie really is Julius's courage though. He makes it easier for Julius to breathe again. For the first time in years, with Charlie by his side, Julius feels like he can do anything.

- And eventually, when his world no longer feels now like it's falling apart, and Julius feels like there isn't the weight of the world on his shoulders, he starts to notice that Charlie isn't as okay as he says he is. And Julius is hesitant to bring it up at first, because he didn't want to push Charlie away, wanted to give him space to open up on his own terms.

- But when it becomes clear he isn't going to, and Julius is so so worried, eventually... he confronts Charlie. And it takes hours and hours of wearing Charlie down before he breaks and finally admits everything he had been keeping in. Admits all of the guilt and self-hatred he had been holding.

- For the first time in their friendship, it becomes Julius's turn to be Charlie's courage. He's scared, he's so fucking scared hearing the things that come out of his best friend’s mouth, but he is determined not to let Charlie know that. Because Charlie needed him now to be strong.

- After getting Charlie to open up, the next hurdle for Julius becomes convincing Charlie that he needs to get help. Charlie is terrified to tell his Aunt and Uncle because he doesn’t want to upset them. He doesn’t know how they’ll react.

- But with Julius as his courage, Charlie tells them. Right before Christmas break, Charlie admits that he needs help to his Aunt and Uncle. They’re shocked and upset and blame themselves for not seeing that Charlie was struggling, but they promise to get him help.

- They discuss, over break, they discuss Charlie not going back to school. They think that he needs time off and he needs to be at home to recover. Charlie argues with them constantly to let him go back. That he could see a therapist near the school and he had Julius to watch out for him

- They don’t relent until almost two weeks after the second half of the year had started. There were conditions and a lot of concerns, but everyone could see that Julius was important for Charlie to be able to heal.

- And it’s not like things get better overnight. Both Charlie and Julius continue to struggle, to have their bad days. But unlike before, now they have each other. And together they could do just about anything.

- As I said before, they become known as the Mad Scientists. They reign terror in the science labs, cause explosions and set off the fire alarm so regularly that the whole school just kind of stops noticing it. Most students avoid the science wing outside of class, and for those who wind up in a science class with them well... it’s certainly never a boring time.

- Much like as kids the two of them are hardly ever apart, so much so that their friends frequently call them Chalius just because it was quicker. And everyone pretty much knew that if you told Charlie something, Julius was bound to know it as well and vice versa.

- A lot of people assume that the two of them are dating. Or if not dating then they assume that they are just oblivious idiots, who are both in love with each other and just won’t admit it.

- It’s because of the way they act. The fact that they’re always attached at the hip, hold each other hands nearly all the time. Always sit one pressed against the other, arms and legs touching, and oftentimes you would find the two of them just curled together. Charlie would easily plop into Julius’s lap to stay close, and Julius loves to lay with his head in Charlie’s lap so that Charlie could play with his hair. They hugged each other tightly, Julius always resting his chin on Charlie’s head protectively. They called each other by their nicknames and acted so soft and sweet sometimes their friends teased they were going to get cavities just watching them.

- And of course, Charlie and Julius love each other, but what they had wasn’t a romantic relationship. The closest they can come to finding something to call it is Queerplatonic Relationship, but for the most part, they insist that they are just Charlie and Julius. Nothing more and nothing less. They can’t explain it. But it’s theirs. And they’re so so happy with it.

- (They only ever tell their friends about them being something akin to QPPs. They don’t really mind other people making assumptions, as long as those they care about understand and accept them. The rest of the world didn’t matter).

- They have a handful of ways in which they calm each other down, provide comfort, or even just provide a distraction from each other’s thoughts. Charlie very frequently plays with Julius's hair (which he keeps about shoulder length, he likes to have it long and he loves Charlie playing with it) which helps them both relax. Julius will "play the piano" on Charlie's arm as a way to help keep Charlie grounded, depending on what Charlie needs sometimes Julius attempts to have Charlie guess which piece he is playing, other times he simply just "plays" whatever piece comes to mind and occasionally will sing along. Julius will also play the real piano for Charlie if it is available, although he plays the ukulele when he's trying to keep himself distracted. And Charlie will sing to Julius if they're alone. "Their song" is Somewhere Only We Know, but sometimes Charlie will sing other things, including Return To Pooh Corner as another favorite.

- Once they're reunited, the two of them even start spending the summers together. Charlie's family on his aunt's side runs a successful hotel chain and the two of them often spend the summer at one of those hotels in a tourist town beach.

- They're actually kind of local legends at the hotel. Julius in particular is known for his karaoke skills. Despite years of training Julius does tend to be very anxious about performing in general. Except when it comes to karaoke. He's performed a wide array of songs, some with Charlie and some on his own. My personal favorite of the ones I've thought of is That Don't Impress Me Much, which also happens to be the first karaoke performance his other friends get to see.

- Charlie can’t drive. In fact, he doesn’t even really like to be in cars ever since his parents died, it makes him anxious because he’s worried about another car crash happening. But it helps to have someone there to hold his hand, provide a distraction. He gets nervous when his friends and family are in cars too, always makes them text him when they arrive so he knows that they’re safe. But he refuses to drive. Period. He never wants to be in the position where he’s in charge of someone else’s life like that.

- Technically speaking, there is a no pet/animal policy in the dorms. But Charlie and Julius tend to ignore that. Not for their own pets, but... They rescue lab animals. From the nearby college, other high schools. They find about animals being used for experiments and they take them in. Usually only temporarily, until a permanent home can be found for them. They work with a local group of college students who have been trying to protest this type of research for years and a local rescue. Sometimes they get non-lab animals, usually snakes or rats, animals other people wouldn’t take.

- (Their friends only learn about this operation in Charlie and Julius’s Junior year, when they have to recruit them to find a missing snake).

- The entire school kind of loves Charlie and Julius, because they will cause chaos if asked. Like slip them a note and $5 and they’ll set off the fire alarm right when you’re supposed to be having a test. A little more, a please, a good story, maybe they’ll even shut the school down for the day. And they get away with it because nobody thinks they’re doing it on purpose. They set the alarms off so often on accident, that no one would even consider that they were doing it on purpose.

- Charlie starts to play soccer again, in his sophomore year. It’s really hard at first, he almost quits after the first practice because it reminds him of his parents and it hurts. But Julius convinces him to stick it out, because Charlie loved soccer and Juls knew he missed playing. It gets easier with every practice, and in the end, Charlie is happy to be back on a team again but isn’t ever quite the same as before.

- Julius is the resident worrywart of their larger friend group. Their friends tease it’s because Charlie is the exact opposite, reckless, the type of person who acts first and thinks later.

- Julius is trans, aro? he thinks? And ace

- Charlie is pan

- They have matching tattoos, Winnie-The-Pooh themed, although I’m still figuring out what exactly they look like.

- Charlie has tattoos for his parents, although again I don’t fully know what those look like yet

- Julius’s birthday is September 2nd, and his name in their friend group chat is PianoMan

- Charlie’s birthday is July 25th and his name in their friend group chat is Exploding Charlie

#Charlie and Julius #Chalius #tw suidice #tw transphobia #tw character death #(not major)#tw car crash #beauty and the mermaid #ravenpuff writes

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royalbluehues · 6 years

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Cognitive Fidelity

A/N: Hey, it’s your girl, back at it with another Connor fic. It’s loosely based on Westworld when they make the droids go through interrogation and tests for accuracy. Honest to God, I hope that it’s not too confusing for you guys; if it is lmk asap.

For those nerds out there that are like me and enjoy listening to instrumental music to get the full 200% experience, here is the very song I based all of this off of: This World

Feedback would be gr8- lmk if you want to be tagged in anymore of my Connor fics in my ask or comments.

I am taking in requests at the moment, if that tickles your fancy.

As always, hit that heart button to let me know I’m not doing a crappy job. Tyvm, and happy reading :)

Title: Cognitive Fidelity

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: Nudity

Pairings: Connor x Reader

Disclaimer: This is set pre-everything. This Connor is a prototype to the ‘real’ prototype. The time this takes pace is a year before Kamski leaves CyberLife in 2028. Connor is just an idea, because figuring out and engineering something is a constant cycle of fixing and implementing.

You are born.

“Can you hear me?”

Your eyelashes bat softly against your cheeks, the movement similar to how a butterfly would expand its wings after having landed.

Your lips move a fraction, the movement stiff and unnatural; your eyes open fully now, and above you are blinding lights that are shaped octagonally. They are shining down on you, and you tilt your head to the left, aware of the feeling of hair touching your shoulder.

Everything was so white and pristine- and when your eyes shifted away from the lights, you could see small molecules of aerosols of dust reflecting from the light around you.

“I’ve had her stored away for a while now,” the same voice says, a fondness ringing out in the last rise of each word.

The eyebrows furrow, and you turn your head to the left, where the voice is coming from. It’s male and it sounds slightly nasally and rough. There, sitting at desk is a man, typing furiously on a laser keyboard. His glasses are perched on his nose, and part of his hair is pulled into a bun in the back.

Next to him is another male. Although, oddly enough, you knew he wasn’t like the other man with the glasses.

He was standing, and his eyes were observing you with curiosity, brown eyes staring into yours. He, too, tilts his head just slightly.

You blink.

Once, twice. The corners of your mouth move up in a friendly smile, “Hello.”

Your voice is light, and it’s wonderful to hear on ears- it’s light and amiable.

The man with the glasses looks up from his typing, gray eyes planting on you. The man pushes his chair back, and he uses his feet to shuffle towards you. You watch him with curiosity as he comes face to face with you.

The man behind him is still silent and is still watching you.

You push off on the table you are lying upon, and a message pops up in your vision. “Aluminum alloy,” you say automatically, your eyes flickering down to the table. It’s a metallic gray, and you register it to be sixty five degrees fahrenheit, or as the metric system calls for, eighteen degrees celsius.

“Very good,” The man praises, all the while smiling, “Do you know where you are, honey?”

You tilt your head again in the other direction. Your eyes flicker about you, transparent floor to ceiling walls with a stark white back wall. You were in a 10ft x 6in room, with a 25 foot depth. Where the man had been sitting, monstrous electronics sat- like the room, they were sleek and a pure white. A logo ran along the backs of the monitors, and it reads CyberLife.

You could hear so many things: the whirring of machines just seven feet away, the beeping of a motor, the humming from the lights above, across the way somewhere, the lever of a coffee machine being pushed down on, and- the most fascinating thing, you decided- was the slow and rhythmic breathing of the man in front of you.

“I am in a laboratory at CyberLife Tower.” You say calmly, as you train eyes with the gray-eyed man. Your hands fold on your lap, “Who are you?”

A simple question.

“I’m Elijah Kamski.”

“Elijah,” you repeated slowly. Such an odd name, you think, and within less than a second, you begin to spew out information. “Elijah was a prophet. He is mentioned in the Book of Kings. He lived in a northern kingdom of Israel,” you say instinctively, watching as gray eyes look on in approval, “and he was said to have lived circa 9th century BC.”

“Very good,” Elijah repeated, gray eyes urging you to continue. So you did.

“You were born on the 27 of July in 2002, and graduated school early with an IQ of 171. You attended the University of Colbridge under the mentorship of Professor Amanda Stern. You founded CyberLife when you were just sixteen.” Your lips move as a rapid pace as you speak, “You are currently twenty seven years of age.”

Elijah nodded, his hand raising to let it hover under his nose as he leaned back into his chair.

“Who am I?” You ask suddenly, and you hear the man who is still standing shift in his stance.

Elijah says a name- your name.

You blink again, and then you repeat it. It tastes wonderful on your lips- and you enjoy the way your mouth moves when you push out each syllable. It gives you an odd satisfaction, almost making you feel honored to have something that personally belonged to you.

You pull up a search engine as you say it again, results telling you the origin of your name: mentions, other females that have the same name, social media posts containing it, the Latin and Greek root, the pronunciation, and variations if it.

You dart your eyes to the brown haired man that was watching you with interest. “You are Connor.”

He didn’t reply, but you noticed that on the side of his head was an indentation of a circle, and it contained a light. It was turning, once, three times. “You are an android.”

He wore black suit bottoms and a button down shirt; on the left side, right where his heart would be had he been human, a blue, glowing triangle was stitched expertly. The same illuminated color fell just above his right elbow in a band of some sort.

Something deep in your mind was itching at you, “Have we met before?”

His LED light turned once more, flicking to a red color before it changed to blue. Then, he spoke. “No, we haven’t.”

His voice was smooth and clear, almost honey-like, but with an edge. “We haven’t?” Your voice drips into disappointment, but he doesn’t say anymore- his body manner speaking volumes of his hesitance. He seems too familiar.

You were unaware of the fact that you were bare; not a single stitch of clothing covering your modesty. Though, many would argue and say that you did not have modesty; for you were a machine, and machines do not feel anything- shame, least of all.

You turn towards Elijah and quietly wait until he asks you a question. He had been watching the small interaction, completely immersed and making mental notes of how well your communication had evolved- as if you had a mind of your own.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she Connor?” Elijah complimented, rubbing small circles into his right cheek with his thumb.

“She’s very pretty,” Connor confirms, voice sincere.

You look at the android looming in the room, his presence bringing you an odd comfort, “Thank you,” you reply indifferently, the compliment not affecting you in any way. You blink a few times, and your brows furrow for a second time in the duration of your conversation.

Elijah is still watching you intently, his steely gray eyes following you small movements on your artificially constructed face. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully quick. Elijah nods, motioning you to speak. “You mentioned that you had me stored away for some time. What do you mean by that?”

Elijah was expecting this, and he gave you a small smile. “You were my first creation,” He shifts in his chair crossing his legs, the expensive fabric of his pants rustling as he did so, “my golden child of sorts.”

Your mouth opens to form a little ‘o’, “Am I an android as well? Like Connor?” You looked at Connor when you said this, the familiarity of him not having been shaken.

Elijah nods, “You are.”

You suddenly need to know more, questions popping in your mind second after second. “When was I created?”

“Shortly after I moved to Detroit. So sometime around 2019,” he explained, “but all you ever been has been a prototype to what inventions followed after you.”

“Oh.” You frown, “But why did you put me away?”

“You were originally made for a domestic lifestyle. A sort of 1950s housewife. You were a shock to the world- after all, you were the first AI bot that moved and spoke fluidly, like your human counterpart,” Elijah then sighs, “but you still had many technicalities embedded in you. By this time we were already working on other projects, other androids that were better.”

Your face falls and eyes narrow as he tells you this.

Elijah moistens his cracked lips with his tongue, “Don’t take it so personal, sweetheart. Things evolve. You were a sensation- the reason why CyberLife is here today. You have had a wonderful purpose in this world.”

This world. You smile once more, “Yes, I suppose you are right. Everybody has a wonderful purpose in this world.”

Elijah cocks his head to the side, never taking his eyes off you, “Come here, Connor.” The male android saunters forward immediately after the demand falls from Elijah’s lips. “This is all so interesting- I can’t believe I never thought of doing this before,” Elijah tells no one in particular.

“Of what?” Connor asks in a tone of suspicion, forcing you to wonder if Connor’s questions were multiplying in a rapid rate as yours were.

Elijah’s hand moves back and forth between the two of you, “You see,” he begins, standing from his chair as he walks to the monitors to retrieve a tablet, “Connor here is a prototype to a prototype we’re currently on,” he directs this comment to you now.

“Like how I am?” You inquire, feeling the cool air conditioning on your skin.

Elijah smirks down at his device, “Something like that.” As he scrolls on, you and Connor are practically having a robotic stare down, neither of you blinking or moving- the scene would have been easily unsettling had others besides the three of you been in the room.

“As I was saying, I was experimenting around with Connor’s initial program, and I wanted him to have a main drive, a sort of focal point. A ‘cornerstone’, if you will.”

Connor pertained handsome features, and you gazed upon him with wonder. He was tall and slim, his skin tone a blend of ivory with a rosy undertone, a strong jaw with a straight nose, rounded eyebrows with observant brown eyes. He had tawny freckles that littered around his face, some dark while others were faded. His rich brown hair is parted to the left side, and you couldn’t help but feel adoration for the small piece of hair that hangs loose on his forehead.

I know you, you thought quietly.

Elijah continued- “Other models have basic functions- theirs mainly pertaining to their work and civil duties… mundane drives. But I never once thought to insert a drive with an emotional setting.” He sets his tablet down on his lap, “The familiarity you are both feeling isn’t something you should be afraid of.”

You want to reach out and touch Connor, the urge to feel his skin on yours becoming slightly overwhelming.

cor·ner·stone

/ˈkôrnərˌstōn/

noun

1. an important quality or feature on which a particular thing depends or is based.

"a national minimum wage remained the cornerstone of policy"

Synonyms-

foundation, basis, keystone, mainspring, mainstay, linchpin, bedrock, base, backbone, key, centerpiece, core, heart, center, crux

"trust is a cornerstone of human relations"

“Is Connor my cornerstone?” You ask the question and your tone is laced with awe, so you reach out to indulge yourself. You raise your bare arm, and it’s the first time you see your skin tone, so different compared to his, the undertones altered. Your hand comes to lay on the left side of his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you could feel the rapid pump of his regulator.

Connor is frozen while watching you, his indicator displaying blood red, while yours is a burning yellow. He could feel the sensation of your hand against his chest, the small pressure. Everything about you was so small compared to him; he was sharp and jagged, while you were soft and delicate.

“Yes and no.” Elijah replies to you, and Connor could hear the grin on him. Connor’s eyes traveled to your loose hair, how it was parted perfectly down the middle and how it curled sightly at the ends. Your skin was free of any blemishes, not a single mark on you, as if you were brand new.

“Like I said before, you were my first. I never thought of programming you with sentimental values. And to clarify some things, I never put you away for a long period of time. I take you out periodically and reprogram you- see if I can alter what is already set into you. And I have.” You turn your head a small degree in wonder, ears listening to the man beside you as your eyes burn into the brown ones in front of you. “But to answer your question, yes, Connor is your cornerstone, just as you are Connor’s. He just wasn’t yours in the beginning.”

Elijah is watching the gears turn in Connor head, the tablet revealing lines of code and the thought process in him.

“When we finally constructed you, Connor, I was hit with a sort of… nostalgia, for lack of a better word. You are CyberLife’s newest idea, and it made me remember who started it all in the beginning. I made sure to slip this small code in when no one was looking- make you feel something, other than your fucking love to your work, something that drives you other than your missions.”

Elijah then walks out the room, his presence leaving not striking any warning messages. You don’t even care, because you are too focused of the male standing in front of you.

Your eyes look down at his hands, and with your free hand, you reach down to take his in yours. You raise it so that his hand cups your cheek, and you appreciate the feel of his cold skin against your cold skin. You practically nuzzle into his hand, so much so that you turn your head to give the heel of his palm a small kiss.

His LED light is still red, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, so many emotions flashing into his eyes: confusion, fondness, anger, denial.

You smile lovely at him, “You are meant to have a wonderful purpose in this world, Connor.”

Connor cannot speak. He can only think, think and deny what you are, you are an android constructed to look and speak like a female. You are an android, made with the same parts like him. Nothing more, nothing less.

But why did he feel a stir of something foreign resonate deep within him?

He only had one primary directive and that was to be successful in whatever mission is presented to him.

But you have no mission at the moment, a voice tell him, and he pushes it away.

Elijah returns, and the glass door he pushes on to enter hisses as it slowly returns back to its place as it shuts behind him. He moves to stand next to you, and in his hand is a gun. He offers the black handle to Connor.

Connor’s eyes look up at Kamski in question, but doesn’t vocalize it. He tears his hand away from your cheek, and takes the weapon into his hand. He steps back from you, the small pressure on his chest escaping as he does so, and he can finally breathe.

Being around you, he decided, was suffocating. The heavy object in his hand is comfortable, much more to his preference. “Today, we will be testing your cognitive fidelity, Connor.”

Connor looks at you. You are watching him with an emotion no one has ever looked at him with. The moment he had been awoken from his eternal slumber, he found men and woman in lab coats to be taking down notes with disinterest in their eyes, marking off boxes on their clipboards as they had him perform mediocre tasks.

You are looking at him with affection, love pouring out of your eyes as a smile graces your lips. The image before him reminds him of a painting, and the very painting pops into his vision.

The Birth of Venus, the title reads.

There, Venus is unclothed, her arms laying delicately over her breasts and genitals. She was born, and Connor couldn’t help but compare you to her, because in some twisted and cruel way, you were just born too.

“I want to test and see if the code has worked at all; make you something other than the obedient machine that you are, Connor. Make infatuation happen between the oldest and the newest androids.” Kamski scoffs at his own words, “Poetic, if I say so myself.”

Elijah settles into his chair once more, but his time, he rolls back, placing space between the two of you and himself. “Shoot her, Connor.”

Connor is blinking, and he can easily pull the trigger if he applies just the slightest pressure. But he can’t.

Not while you are gazing upon him like if he were some god.

When the words pass Elijah’s lips, your smile falters, and now a warning blares in front of your vision as you watch Connor step back and aim towards you, the inside of the barrel of the gun greeting you.

You are scared, and a bitter taste stretches into your mouth at the thought.

But then, when you meet Connor’s eyes once again, and you lose all sense of worry. You just feel him. And he is your home.

You ignore the weapon that he is pointing at you, and your faltered smile is brought back to life once more.

You love him.

You love him, and you don’t care if it was some sort of code that was imbedded in you for a guinea pig experiment. All you care for is Connor.

And while the weight of Elijah’s order hangs heavy in the room, while Connor’s LED is flashing a rapid yellow and red, you open your mouth to speak. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Connor is staring straight at you, watching as you move to stand. Your body was perfectly crafted, moving whimsically as you beelined straight to him- pushing the outstretched hand away. Your face is calm and hopeful. “We have a purpose in this world, and I think that is beautiful. Completely different purposes- and yet, we are anchored to one another. It’s in your backstory like its in mine,” your face leans into his, and Connor’s lips twitch upward in recoil.

You ignore this though, because if you could feel this much love for him, you knew that he must feel the same towards you. You press your chest up to his, ignoring the looming presence in the corner.

Connor is stiff and unresponsive, but the allure of your lips call to him, and he slowly, slowly leans into you and presses his thin lips to yours.

If he were human, he would have sighed into your mouth. He feels the way your nose softly bumps into his, and he closes his eyes. He leans into your touch, the hand that hold the gun falls lax and he moves it to rest on your bare hip.

He could feel gray eyes on him, and that was when he stiffened once more. Shoot her.

You feel as he once again stiffens, but you ignore it. You move your lips on his despite his being unresponsive unlike the way they were mere seconds ago. You allow each faux human emotion within you to pour out on your lips.

You are unaware of the feeling of cold metal angling on your side, completely engrossed with the feeling of sensation.

Elijah looks down at his tablet, and is disappointed when the sound of the gun goes off. He sighs as he takes off his glasses, folding them and placing them into his breast pocket.

He looks up to find Connor enveloping you as you are limp in his arms. You are crying, and blue blood ribbons down your bare thighs.

Connor’s face is stony, but he still raises a hand to stroke the side of your face. His jaw is clenched tightly.

You feel fingers lightly touching your cheek, “This world is beautiful,” you choke out, a bit of blue blood dribbling from the corner of your mouth, “and I am grateful I’ve gotten to meet you.”

You are still looking at him as if he were the light of the world, intimacy Elijah has never seen before. Connor’s face is apathetic, his mouth opening a fraction to say something- anything, and when he does, Elijah just shakes his head in deeper disappointment.

“We are machines,” he tell you, “and we are incapable of feeling.”

You smile sadly, raising a shaky hand up to touch the small wisp of hair that frames his face, “I think I love you,” you whisper, telling him and only him, because it is just you and Connor, and nothing else. “I think I love you,” you repeat to him solemnly, louder this time, “and it terrifies me.”

Lifeless eyes stare up at him. He lets you go, allowing your body to crash with the pristine floor as he steps away from you.

Mission Successful, a message tell him.

He looks to Elijah, and all Elijah sees is a ruthless machine that is stained with blue blood. “I’ll call someone to clean this up.” Gray eyes peer down at your naked and bleeding form, “You frighten me at times, Connor.”

“You do not need to fear me, Elijah. I am not programmed to hurt anyone without a given motive.” The color of his indicator is a steady blue.

Elijah shakes his head in disagreement, toeing the side of your body, his voice venomous. “You are everything that is wrong with this fucking company.” He looks up at Connor, “Pull up your analysis and delete this meeting in your log.”

Connor stares off into space, and after two whole minutes, he blinks. Brown eyes meet gray eyes, “Hello, Mr. Kamski.”

Elijah nods, breathing in deeply as if this has happened many times before. “What happened in the last half hour, Connor?”

Connor’s LED light flashes yellow and then black to blue, “I’m afraid I do not know.”

“Are you lying to me?” Elijah questions, a dark brow rising.

Connor blinks and responds automatically, “No. I am programmed to answer truthfully.” Your eyes are still planted on him, glassy and lifeless, but Connor does not look down at you whatsoever, completely ignoring you, in fact.

“Return to your part of the building. I’ll have someone send you over when I’ve constructed her again. We’ll have another go Friday.”

Elijah turns to draw one single line on a paper, and it is littered with tally marks- a total of six altogether.

Connor obeys and leaves the room, thinking nothing of the odd statement. But distant words echo in his mind as he does so, and they are not his.

They are female, light and amiable.

This world

It is a resounding chant that does not leave his head, and Connor did two self diagnostics to see where it was coming from, but he doesn’t find anything.

He enters an empty and dark laboratory, walking up a raised pedestal and sits on the metallic chair that faces the glass doors.

</”SHUTDOWN.exe”?>

He slowly feels his bio-components whirring off, and he could feel the slowing down of his thirium pump heart regulator.

This world, the female voice tells him as if she were whispering it into his ear as he nears the end, is beautiful.

Phantom lips press on his as his eyelids close and dark surrounds him.

He is dead.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tags: @superanonymousreader

#connor x reader #connor detroit #detroit become human #ruthless!connor x reader #machine connor x reader #rk800 x reader #rk800 #dbh rk800 #dbh fanfiction #ruthless!connor #kamski x reader #kamski fanfic #connor fanfic #cognitive fidelity #royalbluehues

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ahouseoflies · 4 years

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The Best Films of 2019, Part I

On one hand, I fear the direction of American cinema, and I feel more personally distracted from great art with each passing day. On the other hand, my viewing was up 5% from last year despite my belief that I’ve gotten choosier. I even approve of most of the films nominated for Best Picture. Are the offerings just top-heavy this year? Are my standards declining? Answering questions like those is part of why I present a paragraph or two on everything I see each year, though I can’t even imagine someone sitting down and reading all of this.

Full disclosure: I haven’t seen Just Mercy, Monos, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Good Boys, Frankie, For Sama, or An Elephant Sitting Still. The tiers, as always, are Garbage, Admirable Failures, Endearing Curiosities with Big Flaws, Pretty Good Movies, Good Movies, Great Movies, and Instant Classics. GARBAGE

129. Cold Pursuit (Hans Petter Moland)- A film professor of mine showed us Wings of Desire and City of Angels, its American remake, in order to show us how a film can technically cover a story while losing the essence that made it special. I can only hope that Hans Petter Moland's Norwegian original is better than his stab at an English language remake, which fails completely at balancing violence and comedy. The movie almost announces its own boredom with the protagonist as it shifts focus first to the villain and then to cops on the case, all of whom have artificial quirks to try to give them life where there isn't any. The Neeson character's journey toward revenge is empty, so the film drifts from him, but it doesn't have anything to say with the other characters either. 128. Domino (Brian De Palma)- Seeking revenge, a Libyan informant roughs up a potential terrorist by throwing him over a restaurant bar. Cut to two cops driving wordlessly. Cut to the Libyan guy dunking the other guy's head in boiling soup. That interruption spells out what the rest of the film does: De Palma could not be less interested in his replacement-level actor's shoddy policework, especially in the self-parody of the last twenty minutes. Any intensity the movie has comes from terrorists (or Guy Pearce over-salting a salad), and then the police drain the momentum. Just make a movie about terrorists, Brian! And, as I've urged you for years, get rid of Pino Donaggio. 127. Beach Bum (Harmony Korine)- Moondog, the spacey, Floridian hedonist poet at the center of the film, is supposed to be "brilliant" and "a good guy" at heart according to his daughter. But at the daughter's wedding, he shakes the hand of her fiance, whom he usually calls "limp-dick," and he says, "What's your name again?" The line got a laugh in my theater, but is it likely that he didn't know the name of his daughter's fiance? Especially if he's a good guy who doesn't hurt people on purpose? It's one example out of a thousand of Harmony Korine making the goofy decision instead of the one that would benefit character or story. I thought that Korine had taken a turn for the lucid with Spring Breakers, but he just isn't interested in making anything consistent enough for me. There's an hour of consequence-free episodes to follow, though I did cherish Jonah Hill's three improvised scenes, for which he tries a sort of Tennessee Williams voice. You can admire how audacious some of the choices are--describing Zac Efron wearing Jncos makes the film sound more fun than it is--but looking at the poster gives you about 70% of what you would get out of the long ninety-five minutes. Yes, McConaughey's shoes are funny, but what else have you got? 126. Fyre Fraud (Jenner Furst, Julia Willoughby Nelson)- Half as good as the Netflix one. Please, by all means, explain to me what a millenial is again. 125. The Kitchen (Andrea Berloff)- One of my mentors stressed that Shakespeare worked in "cultural touchstones," truisms that weren't difficult to prove but served as a sandbox for all of the juicy stuff. So we all know that, say, too much ambition is a bad thing, but having that North Star at all times allows Shakespeare to ply his trade with character development and imagery and symbol. I know that The Kitchen isn't funny or cool or original, but it also doesn't really have an emotional or thematic core. It's a movie with neither the window dressing nor the window. I don't know what I'm getting at, but I watched the last five minutes twice to make sure that it actually was as anti-climactic and inert as I thought.

124. Climax (Gaspar Noe)- Ah, to be a provocateur who has made his best work already and took all of the wrong lessons from it. I don't envy Noe, who insists on formal rigor even when it adds nothing, who goes to greater, more desperate lengths to shock. A third of this film, embedded somewhere between the three openings, is gross young people talking, lewdly and clinically, about whom they want to bone. I thought I started watching French art movies to get away from locker rooms. 123. The Best of Enemies (Robin Bissell)- The supporting cast of Anne Heche, Wes Bentley, and John Gallagher Jr. avail themselves better than the finger-wagging, scenery-chewing leads, but that hardly matters in a movie this fundamentally broken. Apparently no one saw the problem with making a Ku Klux Klan president the dynamic hero of a school integration that he fought against, but that's how the story functions. He's the guy who casts the deciding vote and gives the speech at the end, but it's a bit anti-climactic for an audience that assumes, yeah, the White race is not morally superior to any other race. Congratulations on your realization, buddy. Long before that, Sam Rockwell’s character is inconsistent. Neither the Rockwell performance nor the Robin Bissell script can thread the needle between showing the heinous terrorist that a Klan member is and revealing the depth that foreshadows the character's change. The answer is to show the character being nice to his developmentally disabled son, which, again, doesn't get all the way there. That's cool that you love your own son, but, uh, that has nothing to do with the hatred that made you shoot up a girl's house because she has a Black boyfriend. Of course you can show these contradictions and changes in a character incrementally--lots of good movies have--but this one ain't going on the list. 122. The Intruder (Deon Taylor)- Probably the most two-star movie of the year. Prototypical in its two-starness. Instructive to me as far as what I give two stars. There’s a point of view error in the first twenty minutes that ruined it for me. ADMIRABLE FAILURES 121. Little (Tina Gordon Chism)- We're all good on body swap movies for a while. This one, otherwise undistinguished in its comedy or storytelling, is notable for just how specifically 2019 it might look in a time capsule: Here's a joke about transitioning as we're on our way to our job developing apps; there's a kid doing The Floss and talking to Alexa. Whoops! Bumped into a guy wearing a VR headset! 120. The Kid Who Would Be King (Joe Cornish)- I appreciate that somebody is still making movies for 9-10 year old boys, but I checked out hard and kind of just left this on until it was done. I don't like lore. Much less funny and urgent than Attack the Block, and it's crazy that this is the only project that came together for Joe Cornish in the intervening eight years. 119. Godzilla: King of the Monsters (Michael Dougherty)- Exhausting and joyless in its large-scale destruction, Godzilla: King of the Monsters pitches everything at the same volume, and even the end of the world ends up not mattering as a result. Despite (or maybe because of) the presence of such great actors, the screenplay dilutes the characters by having three fighter pilots or three scientists when all the lines really could have been given to one of these interchangeable figures. That's first draft stuff, homie. Still, Kyle Chandler is kind of awesome as the weathered one shouting about how everyone else is playing God. He reminds me of Larry Fitzgerald toiling away with professionalism on teams that would never sniff the playoffs. 118. Blinded by the Light (Gurinder Chadha)- I made it about twenty minutes into this movie before flipping the switch and making fun of it relentlessly. It tries to strike the heart-on-sleeve authenticity that a Springsteen song does, but if The Boss never overwhelms you with language, almost every line of dialogue in this film spells out what the character is thinking. The overbearing father is especially intolerable: "What is this music? You need to get rid of distractions and focus on getting a good job so that you don't end up a taxi driver. Like me!" I'm only sort of paraphrasing. Blinded by the Light is too well-meaning to be offensive, but it's absurd in its spoon-feeding. LMK, ladies: On the third time that I have headphones in my ears during a conversation with you, and I start buttering you up with lyrics to "Jungleland," will you still love me? 117. Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw (David Leitch)- What a summer, huh? The go-for-broke final setpiece redeems the film somewhat, and Vanessa Kirby is a welcome addition to the universe. But Idris Elba's first line, responding to a question about who he is, is "Bad Guy," and the characterization doesn't go too much further. I feel as if I have honed the requisite disposition to enjoy a Fast and Furious movie, but that doesn't mean that the most cliched thing has to happen at the most cliched time in the most cliched way.

116. I Lost My Body (Jeremy Clapin)- Not for me ultimately. The film presents itself as above the tropes of cinematic romance but sure seems to circle around them. Clapin is willing to set up the pins of, say, "I'm actually the pizza delivery guy but have kept it a secret for a year," but he is unwilling to knock the pins down with anything resembling catharsis. I don't know if the French bowl, but feel free to substitute whatever kind of metaphor they might get offended by.

115. The Lion King (Jon Favreau)- I saw the original Lion King when I was ten: old enough to think that Disney movies were beneath me but young enough to know nothing about art or the world. And I remember the way that the songs transcended reality: "I Just Can't Wait to Be King" turning into a Busby Berkeley number, "Be Prepared" taking on an expressionist green tint. It was mass entertainment that was far from experimental, but I remember thinking, "Can you do that?" As an artistic experiment, this remake is kind of confounding, to the point that I don't know whether to classify it as an animated or live-action film. The final scene starts upside down, and your eye adjusts to the idea that you're looking at a reflection in a stream, but that stream is a Caleb Deschanel-aided, computer-generated reflection of a reality. However, I return to my original point: You're missing something if you think The Lion King is a better story if it's more realistic. Capably made as The Lion King 2019 is, no one is referencing 42nd Street. These Disney remakes just reference themselves. 114. Stuber (Michael Dowse)- The critical community has been pretty forgiving of Stuber; I guess because it's a type of studio film that used to be common but now is not. Judged on its own merits, however, it's labored. The screenplay circles around questions of masculinity, but not in a way that hasn't been done better in other recent comedies. Perhaps most disappointing of all, I've seen Iko Uwais and Bautista fight before, and it looked a whole lot cooler than the way they're sliced and diced here. The ending's sweet at least. 113. After the Wedding (Bart Freundlich)- Think of what Julianne Moore could have accomplished in the time it took in her career for her to shoot four crappy movies with her husband. This is the type of melodrama that makes more sense after all of the revelations have cleared the air, but that doesn't mean the preceding hour and a half was any more fun because of the aftermath. 112. The Goldfinch (John Crowley)- One day someone's going to figure out how to coherently adapt a Dickensian novel and actually do that thing Crowley is trying to do: condensing two hundred pages of back story into 1/8th of a page here or a line there. Somebody's going to be able to figure out the little moments that are important and the big moments that aren't. And you'll all be sorry. The movie is ultimately hampered by the bad ending of the novel, in which a person who isn't a mystery writer has to solve a mystery. Perfect casting for Luke Wilson though. He definitely looks like a whiskey-faced dad who would steal your social security number. 111. The Souvenir (Joanna Hogg)- This movie is autobiographical. The protagonist has the same initials as Joanna Hogg, and she's attending film school at the same time Hogg did. But what a self-own it is for your hero, based on you, to be this inexpressive and restrained and deferential. The film is mostly about a cold romantic relationship--and I guess what the character learns through that experience--but when her beau's friend asks what she sees in him, she can't really say. Neither can the audience. I guess it's a skill to write a scene in which a family is having an argument that is so clenched-jaw reticent that the viewer can't even discern the topic of conversation for a few minutes, but it's not a skill I appreciate. 110. The Dead Don’t Die (Jim Jarmusch)- Jim Jarmusch must be a very good friend.

109. Velvet Buzzsaw (Dan Gilroy)- If the film were funny, I wouldn't mind the lack of narrative drive. If the film had narrative drive, I wouldn't mind the lack of atmosphere--glaring for a film that circles around to horror eventually. If the film had more to say, I wouldn't mind how pedantically it says it. If the protagonist's change of heart made sense, then I wouldn't mind that his conversion apparently happens off-screen. At least most of the actors seem to be having fun. I wasn't. 108. It: Chapter Two (Andy Muschietti)- I started squirming in my seat during a sequence somewhere in the circuitous second hour. Bill sees his old bike in an antiques window, haggles with a Stephen King shopkeeper cameo, and finishes the scene on a triumphant note, believing that his old bike will ride like the wind. Cut to the bike falling apart on the road, deflating his pride with comedy. Cut to a flashback of him riding the bike with young Beverly, serene and warm. Cut to him riding the bike again with determination until he stops, terrified. Within fifteen seconds, the film jerks us into four divergent emotions at a whim. The overall tone felt just as arbitrary to me, and that's before we get to the always-unclear line between fantasy and reality. And this time, the flashbacks of each young character's encounters with Pennywise are less scary because we know they all live into the present. Andy Muschietti just does not have a light enough touch to make this movie work.The last forty-five minutes are interminable. But I had all the same gripes with the first chapter, so personal taste is a factor. 107. Trial by Fire (Edward Zwick)- Perfect example of a true story that could use some poetic justice. I don't want to give away anything that the first line of the imdb summary doesn't already, but this ending could have been much more satisfying by changing one or two lines. This is a movie that recreates, multiple times, babies burning alive, but the ending is somehow more punishing. It's also one of those films that should have just begun at the halfway point. If we can praise special effects when they're done well, then they should be fair game when they're this embarrassing. Zwick definitely put his flash drive into the Lifetime computers for fire.exe.

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