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blackbird5154 · 6 months

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Papa Emeritus III: The analysis of mythological references

Here are my thoughts of Terzo as a character, finally translated to English. Thank you to @osirisiii-bc who is so kind and gracious!

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Note: The author strongly recommends you to check out the Third Era's "policy document" - The Prologue and Introduction by Peter Bebergal before reading this article. This promotional material was sent out to the media by the label on the occasion of the Meliora release.

This analysis is based on the Prologue to Meliora written by Peter Bebergal. At first glance, this text may seem like a set of nonconnected paragraphs, as well as the music video "From the Pinnacle to the Pit" can be considered as a simple cutting of scenes from old movies. But together these two materials can shed light on the mythology of the Meliora Era and the story of Papa Emeritus III - his origin, background and motives. Let's try to understand how it happened that in the image of Papa combined three mythological characters: Prometheus, Icarus and Lucifer.

This is what the author of this analysis looked like when she wrote it

First, let's take a superficial look at the plot. The action of the video takes place in a fictional retrofuturistic city decorated in Art Deco style. The Prologue even gives us the name of this location - Meloria (not to be confused with the album title - Meliora). The city is ruled by a totalitarian cult, something like a Masonic lodge, located in the highest building of the city, which is often struck by lightning.

The protagonist is invited to take part in a cult meeting and to undergo initiation. There he meets a sultry demonic woman who gives him a magic potion (the commentary to the song "Spirit" hints that it was absinthe). The protagonist experiences a vision in which he sees how the city is actually run. Upon awakening from his trance, he escapes from the meeting and throws himself off the roof of a skyscraper. Crashing to the ground, he is reborn into the ghost of Papa Emeritus III, to whom a crowd of people flock. Papa proclaims that the light should belong to the people and rises above the city. By the way, this character has a special name, or rather, a nickname given to him by the press - Mysterious Spectre. This can be read from the page of the newspaper that Papa holds in another clip thematically related to this storyline, "Square Hammer". The headline states: "Mysterious Spectre wrestles power supply from oligarchs". Papa Emeritus in full vestments can be seen in the photo.

Now, let's dig a level deeper. From the very beginning, the video gives us a hint of the concept behind it. The words "pinnacle" and "pit" appear in the splash screen, inscribed in two triangles. The upper word is written in the style of lightning bolts, while the lower one reminds us of stone catacombs. Besides the fact that it is a Masonic symbol (and not the only one in this video, and in Ghost's art in general), it symbolizes the contrast of the heavenly and underground worlds, sacred and profane spheres.

That's what the Prologue says as well:

“Rock and roll exists in two worlds: the sacred and the profane. In the first, it harkens back to a time when people worshipped their gods by wearing masks, dancing, and often in the throes of ecstatic intoxication. In the second, rock exists in the here and now, as an expression of rebellion, sex, power, and even fame. In the realm of the sacred, the ego is destroyed when the god is seen face to face. In the profane, ego is the energy that gets things done. This is the eternal spiritual conflict: the will of the gods versus human will. Those who can keep a foot in both the sacred and the profane can change the world.“

Freemasons are everywhere!

Considering Meliora, we are inevitably faced with its duality: on the one hand, it’s a down-to-earth story about a satanic musical group controlled by the Clergy. On the other hand it’s a legend of the city of Meloria, a kind of Gotham of this fictional universe. Even Papa seems to have two incarnations: a physical and a spiritual one. But the two worlds are not only the dichotomy of matter and spirit. The video shows two levels of the metropolis: the celestial - the world of thunder and lightning, power and electricity, and the subterranean - the world of the poor and the catacombs, the underground temples "under the streets". The society of Meloria is stratified, the upper classes exist at the expense of the lower classes, who bust their hump, generating electricity for their masters and covering the foot of skyscrapers with their bones. The totalitarian regime described in the pages of the Prologue is the oligarchy's way of keeping power in its hands and suppressing any expression of free will from the enslaved people.

“Spies are everywhere. Their eyes are behind the screens of your televisions and devices, their ears attentive to every frequency in the air. Everything is mediated, pre-packaged, and pressure sealed, your lives pre-ordained.”

The watchful airships in the video are labeled grucifixes, but don't let that put us off: they are "angels," agents of the ruling class, an enemy force opposed to Papa Emeritus.

"What if man could harness the power of a god?" the Headmaster asks the protagonist. "In a sense, he would need god no longer." It may be recalled here that Meliora is essentially an album about a world without God. That's exactly how the Nameless Ghoul put it in an interview, which is cited in Revolver magazine. “Spirit Absent” ("spirit absinthe") is “Deus in Absentia”, absent God. It is a world in which man is doomed to choose his own path without prompting from above. Modern man, the man of the era of modernism, seeks to curb the laws of physics, to put heavenly fire at his service. We are getting very close to the image of Prometheus in this story.

“You have been chosen to wield this power,” the Headmaster tells the boy. “Here we are the gods.” Then he sends the protagonist to the top of the building on what looks like an elevator, which symbolizes his ascent through the lodge ranks.

The woman reveals to the protagonist that the deity called demi-surge is the source of the power that moves the gears of the city. And the same power is used to enslave its people. It is their backs that we see bowed before Moloch. The vision is replaced by the sight of a lavish ball. “Through industry, man can harness this power and attain all that which he desires!” - the woman tells and invites the character to join.

This situation is also described in the Prologue:

"The world since he was last seen has changed. Called Moloch by some, the great industrial machine has been grinding away, grinding everything and everyone down in the process."

Historically, Moloch was an ancient Semitic deity to whom human sacrifices had to be made. In the 1927 film "Metropolis" Moloch is represented by an industrial machine with an insatiable maw that devours people who labor in its bowels. And since the music video shows us the 20s of the 20th century, this machine operates on electric power. So, in this story Moloch symbolizes the dark side of progress turned against people.

Moloch in the “Metropolis” movie

The protagonist realizes that the lodge is using ordinary people as fuel for its luxurious life. He is not ready to accept this, so he pushes the woman away and, scattering, jumps from the roof of the skyscraper, from the pinnacle to the pit. There's an important element not to miss here: while he's climbing to the top of the tower before jumping, he's struck by lightning. In that moment he perhaps becomes heir to the mystical power of the demi-surge. By this Papa gains the dramatic ability to shoot lightning from his hands (and a little from his eyes).

As a man of the modern era and a resident of godless Meloria, the protagonist is free to choose how to dispose of this power. Therefore, when he becomes Papa Emeritus, already at the base of the skyscraper, he proclaims that the light should belong to the people. Like Prometheus, who stole the divine fire, he is ready to give it selflessly to the people, so that they can curb the natural force themselves. This similarity must be what the following the Prologue fragment hints at:

“…some still remember the old tales of those who tried to defy the gods. It was said they stole the fire from heaven, or called themselves equal.”

The people who rally around the sacrificed hero become Papa's flock, which is mentioned in the text:

“He is a shepherd of black sheep, the sewers are his cathedral. Here in the darkness they follow the path of the hero’s journey, the necessary travel to the underworld to become transfigured, to become something new.”

The Hero's Journey is a concept invented by Joseph Campbell to describe a monomyth. This archetypal story depicts the way of personality formation, accompanied by psychological transformation. According to the plot, the hero goes on a journey, meets a mentor, passes through a gateway where temptations await, which he must resist. Then he goes to the abyss, where he undergoes a transformation, along with acquiring the gift of the gods, and eventually returns reborn.

Doesn't that ring a bell?

Probably "From the Pinnacle to the Pit" is also a statement about art. Electricity can be perceived as a metaphor for creativity. It is a bit of heavenly power, which the creator (musician) draws from somewhere in the higher spheres and gives to his audience for free. Here Tobias himself appears as a giver of light.

The story of Mysterious Spectre will be continued in the "Square Hammer" video, where we are told that he successfully wages war with local oligarchs, wresting power from them. Let's wish him luck and pay attention to the similarity of Papa's story to two other mythological characters.

Mysterious Spectre in the background of the moon. Handsome as hell.

The cover of the single "From the Pinnacle to the Pit" shows us Papa as Icarus. Let us recall that this ancient Greek young man daringly ascended to the sun, scorched his wings with its heat and fell from heaven to earth, losing too many feathers attached with the easily melting wax. Here we can exclaim after the prophet Isaiah: "How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn!" Because the image of Icarus in this song is combined with the image of Lucifer. In Wikipedia we can read: "Lucifer is the Latin name for the morning appearances of the planet Venus. It corresponds to the Greek names Phosphorus Φωσφόρος, "light-bringer", and Eosphorus Ἑωσφόρος, "dawn-bringer". The entity's Latin name was subsequently absorbed into Christianity as a name for the devil."

Or maybe he didn't fall, but jumped, as the Prologue directly tells us. A man of the modern era is free to choose his own destiny. And it is up to him to decide whether he will be thrown down from heaven or will take a step into the precipice himself, without waiting for a kick from above. Because there is no other way than "from the pinnacle to the pit". Such is the Hero's Journey.

“One figure was considered so prideful he was imprisoned in a pit where he gathered a legion to plan a great rebellion. Now they are merely stories to scare children, to remind them that defiance is a sin. Papa Emeritus III will steal your breath, the parents say. He will unscrew your hands and feet. He will take your eyes.”

Here the image of Papa is so merged with the image of Lucifer that it is difficult to understand who the text is talking about. It seems that the figure of Papa has been defamed: now he is a monster of the underworld, who is used to scare children to make them obedient. He was transformed from a light-bearer into an evil character through slander. Once again we are faced with an almost direct analogy with the Devil. By the way, isn't that why Papa addresses Cirice with the words "I know your soul is not tainted even though you've been told so" that he himself has been stigmatized, presented as a villain? Isn't this the essence of the fall and the punishment?

However Papa Emeritus appears to us: whether he is a rebel, a Melorian revolutionary who made the oligarchs tremble in their skyscrapers, a hero of the common people who brings the light of electricity and freedom to the populace, a fallen angel banished from heaven for his defiant thoughts, or a chthonic demon to scare children, he is a figure who appeals to our unconscious layers through mythological archetypes. Only one question remains: are you, dear reader, ready to follow Papa Emeritus into the abyss, taking the path of rebirth, feeling the halo above your head melting and being replaced by a mitre with an inverted cross?

#papa emeritus iii #terzo #the band ghost #ghost #papa emeritus #papa emeritus 3 #papa emeritus lll #ghost band #ghost bc #meliora #meloria #ghost lore #ghost theory #papa terzo #papa iii #terzo emeritus #tobias forge #mysterious spectre

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anincompletelist · 4 months

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year in review: favorite lines! :D

hi friends! so this is entirely self-indulgent (both the part where I share my own work and the part where I tag you all to do the same) but I feel like we all have those special pieces of art/fics that just mean a little more to us but don't really get a chance in the spotlight. plus, any time is a good time for a bit of shameless self-promo and supporting friends! rules and my own contribution below! <3

RULES: there are no rules! I am quite literally making this up as I go so please don't take this too seriously ksjhdkh. feel free to share your top three/top five/however many favorite snippet(s)/line/quotes/paragraphs from your published fics (or wips, I don't care!) and don't forget to share the link of course! see below for an example.

here are mine!

from Sure As the Stars in the Sky:

They’re both honest people, sometimes to a fault, but Henry’s truths are private, quiet, and Alex’s are loud. From the day Henry met him he’s been brash and earnest, unafraid to speak his mind even when he’s scared, without making sacrifices or harboring fear of punishment for doing so. It’s both intoxicating and infuriating. Alex screams to a crowd of thousands of supporters, holding up bright posters with encouraging messages, and Henry screams into his pillow. When Alex speaks everyone listens, when Henry does he’s stifled, told to quiet down, to get back in line. Alex tries and succeeds. Henry tries. And tries and tries and tries and tries and still it isn’t enough to make any real difference. His whole life he’s felt linked to Alex in a number of ways. He’d taken comfort in their similarities despite their disagreements on more than a few occasions, because it’d been so nice just to have the knowledge that someone out there in the world had some idea what he was going through. That maybe he wasn’t as alone as he often felt. He and Alex’s paths converge at many points, but this is not one of them. Henry rolls over and presses his face into the pillow again, stays there until all of his senses have redirected toward something else, until all he feels is the constricting of his airway and the rush behind his eyes, until his instincts force him to lift his head again, to take a breath, to survive.

from take my hand if you can take me as I am:

And it’s probably just a power play. It’s probably just something that Henry enjoys in the bedroom that’s unrelated to anything else. Lots of people like choking, Alex reckons. But here, now, it feels like— it feels like Henry, Prince Henry, who holds a tremendous amount of power over the whole of his entire country, Henry Fox who tries so hard to balance it all on his shoulders without ever complaining or asking for help even when it’s ripping him apart, Alex’s Henry who shows up in shifts at the oddest of times with his sweet words and his soft, kind heart and his quiet hope — it feels like all of those versions of Henry, each with an equal amount of power, handing a bit of that over for a moment. Like he’s letting Alex have another little piece of him, offering it up like the most precious secret, asking nothing in return. Like he trusts Alex to hold it, to hold him, because he knows he’ll push him only as much as it takes to shake off the dust so he can shine again, never enough to shatter him beyond repair.

from praying our bridges don't make waves:

Alex’s chest burns. Here he is, standing in a bedroom Henry never asked to be in, with someone that’d never been a part of his plans, putting his gentle hands and tender lips on Alex’s roughness even when he’s dirty, even when he’s broken. Even when he doesn’t have anything to offer him but that. Even, even, even. Even when Alex is drifting somewhere miles away, Henry draws him back.

from but I can count on you to tell me the truth when (I've) been drinking and you're wearing a mask:

The ceiling of Alex’s dorm room is cracking in one corner. He knows because he stares at it a lot these days, in between going to classes and lacrosse games. It hadn’t been there when he moved in but it’d steadily grown since that first year. Alex wonders if somehow it’s his fault.

tags: YA'LL THERE'S NO PRESSURE AT ALL BUT ALSO PLS DO THIS SO I CAN APPRECIATE YOU AND YELL AT YOU IN THE TAGS! @affectionatelyrs @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @kiwiana-writes @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @firstsprinces @sparklepocalypse @littlemisskittentoes @getmehighonmagic @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @zwiazdziarka @luainthewild @england-would-fall @iboatedhere @magicandarchery @gayrootvegetable @raysletters @tintagel-or-cockleshells @eusuntgratie @ninzied AND ALSO ANYONE ELSE WHO WOULD LIKE TO SHARE PLS TAG ME ! also might try to come up with some writer asks for end of year stuff too, but we'll see.

I'll see you all for wip wednesday! I hope you're all well! :D

#my fics #tag games #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #firstprince #red white and royal blue fanfic

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birindale · 3 months

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This time: Catra goes fishing, She-Ra has most of Aquaman's powers, and the scripts get even more unbearable to type. We all learn a lesson about capitalism, but perhaps not the one intended.

Transcript/Image ID below the cut

[Image Description: 14 comic pages from the She-Ra mini-comic, “A Fishy Business”.

Cover: Mermista (in her mermaid form) and Starburst She-Ra swim around underwater, smiling at a school of seven bright yellow fish. The Princess of Power logo is up top as always, and at the bottom of the page in blue, outlined in a desaturated red, is the issue title, "A Fishy Business". Below that, the copyright info reads, "Illustrations: (copyright symbol) Mattel, Inc. 1986. Hawthorne, CA 90250 U.S.A. PRINTED IN TAIWAN. All Rights Reserved. (registered trademark symbol) and TM designate U.S. trademarks of Mattel, Inc."

Page 1: A desaturated pink caption box reads, "In the forest near a stream that began at Crystal Falls, Catra was busy making mischief. She stood back to admire her handiwork, a big waterwheel over the stream. Along the wheel were small fishnets, and on the bank was a giant goldfish bowl filled with water." We do in fact see Catra standing before a giant wheel, though it can't really be described as a waterwheel because there's no way for the water to turn it; its only adornments are the 'nets', which look more like baskets but you saw the caption! Who am I to disagree? A slanted, equal-angle channel runs from the wheel closer to the bank, a sort of reverse salmon cannon into the fish bowl. Catra isn't wearing her mask, her clawed gloves are only silver bracers here, and her outfit still strays closer to red than pink. She has a crosscut or rip-cut saw in her right hand (can't say for certain without a closer look at the teeth), and a claw (heh heh) hammer in her left. Her gloves are only silver bracers here, so she doesn't have any claws, and her outfit is straying closer to red than pink.

A yellow caption box at the foot of the page reads, "PRODUCED EXCLUSIVELY FOR MATTEL BY: PENCILIER—JIM MITCHELL. INKER—TODD KUROSAWA. COLORIST—CHARLES SIMPSON. EDITOR—LEE NORDLING."

"'There. As long as I don't get wet, this water-stuff is a snap to handle," says Catra, with an evil little grin.

End Page 1.

Page 2: ""Now to see if it works." She said. Catra pulled a lever that released the wheel, and the wheel turned in the water. As the wheel went around, the fishnets bought up fish from the stream. The fish were then dumped into a trough that emptied into the goldfish bowl." [sic] on that whole paragraph. It's like they took a concept script for a picture book and just turned it into a comic with absolutely zero editing or forethought.

Speaking of no forethought, Catra sure has made this contraption within sight of the Crystal Falls, notorious hangout of Mermista and Friends. She's gripping a lever with both hands (now gloved) and looking back over her shoulder instead of facing the wheel directly. Skip Simpson, bless his heart, seems to have colored her skirt black on autopilot despite Todd Kurosawa's careful delineation. In his defense, Skip was colorist for the whole first wave as well, so he's still getting used to Scratchin' Sound Catra's adjusted color palette. Four concerned-looking fish are scooped up and deposited in the goldfish bowl.

Catra seemingly lies down in the sand to prop her chin dramatically on one hand and smirk at the captive fish. ""You don't know it yet, Fish-face, but you and I are going into business together."" Seriously though, who put all of these quotation marks in the dialogue bubbles? Why didn't Lee Nordling stop them? What kind of editor are you, Lee? Whatever. Three of the fish gape at Catra in shock.

""I can see it now. I'll open the first marine world in Etheria," says Catra. This seems to be an attempt at genericizing Marine World (now called Six Flags Discovery Kingdom), which at the time of publication (1986) had just moved to Vallejo, California and was moderately big news, featuring such wild headlines 'professional basketball player called in to pull bolt out of dolphin throat', 'tiger bites the shit out of football player at pep rally' before Vallejo moved them over from Redwood City. The year after the move they dropped an orca on William Statner (who was, tragically, completely fine). Basically, I think Catra is envisioning an animal theme park with a heavy aquatic slant, rather than a flooded planet situation. But it's the kind of theme park which puts chimps on motorcycles and an elephant on water skis. So look out.

End Page 2.

Page 3: A pink caption box reads, "Catra saw herself as master of the show. The fish would do wonderful stunts! Catra herself would be the star. And how the crowd would cheer! Handsome men—maybe even Bow—would be madly in love with her." Oh so I didn't need to explain Marine World. Okay. Well I'm leaving that in anyway. This one's for you, Norcal.

Catra imagines herself in a series of fanciful situations, whipping the fish into a cheerleader-style pyramid (her gloves are bracers again, but the rest of her costume is Scratchin' Sound Catra-accurate, including ripped silver tights and a silver skirt); staring dreamily at Bow, who's offering her a bottle of milk; and waterskiing behind four moderately sized fish, which feels optimistic even for this fantasy.

""So do some aerobics while I sew up your little swimsuits," says Catra, actually looking pretty reasonable despite the fish's shock. Can a fish do aerobics? I guess it doesn't specify that you get your oxygen through air instead of water, but I feel like it's implied.

End Page 3.

Page 4: A pale pink caption box reads, "A few days later, Peekablue was riding in the Sea Harp near the beautiful Crystal Falls while Mermista swam alongside. Adora and Spirit stood on the shore. "Peekablue! Mermista!" Adora called. "Let's pick some berries for lunch." But just then a young seal swam up to Mermista with a message.

We see the Crystal Falls in the background, and Mermista with her seal friend in the foreground, but the midground is the Sea Harp sitting on dry land next to Adora and Spirit. Is it not a boat…?

""Oh no! He says his friends, the sunfish and the tuna twins, are missing. And no one has seen the bluegills since yesterday,"" says Mermista, translating for a distressed seal with emanata that seem to indicate seal-speech.

""Hmmmm, this could be trouble. I'll go look for help!" says Adora.

End Page 4.

Page 5: A pink caption box reads, "Hidden in a spot behind some trees, Adora raised high the Sword of Protection and said "For the honor of Grayskull, I am She-Ra!" And in a magical flash, she became the Princess of Power. Then, she changed Spirit into Swift Wind." Because god forbid we draw an action pose, I guess.

Starburst She-Ra raises both arms to show off her cape, and Crystal Swift Wind raises both wings. They're so sparkly that light refracts all around them, twinkling and vibrant.

End Page 5.

Page 6: A pink caption box reads, "Peekablue and Mermista were glad She-Ra had come to help. She-Ra suggested they split up. Peekablue said, "I don't want to get my lovely feathers wet, so I'll follow the stream leading into the forest. With my many eyes I'll be able to see any fish who went that way. Then I'll meet you later."" She-Ra stands beside Peekablue in front of the Crystal Falls, and Mermista watches them from the water.

A pink caption box reads, "Then She-Ra and Mermista dove into the Crystal Falls pool."

She-Ra dives, Mermista just looks like she's floating downwards. It must be hard to slow down enough for a human (super-powered or not) to keep up.

End Page 6.

Page 7: A pink caption box reads, "Deep in the blue-green world, the two friends passed great sweeping fronds of sea moss, sparkling stones, many-colored shells, and the broken columns of old ruins. But, oddly enough, no fish. And no one seemed to know where they were!" She-Ra and Mermista swim past a coral reef, some decaying, vaguely Grecian ruins in the background. There's not a fish in sight.

""Have you seen our friends, the fish?"" She-Ra asks an octopus, who shrugs and says, ""Nope."" Apparently She-Ra can breathe underwater in this one.

""Fish should stay in one place, like I do," says a bivalve, "Then they wouldn't get lost!""

End Page 7.

Page 8: ""Then I hope Peekablue has already found them,"" says She-Ra, looking concerned.

A pink caption box reads, "But Peekablue found something else. As she followed the stream through the woods, her eyes searched the water. "I can see all the way to the bottom!" She exclaimed. But then her special eyes noticed something further upstream." Oh shit. Her brand.

Peekablue is shown wandering alongside the stream, Catra's contraption bleary in the distance.

End Page 8.

Page 9: ""Why, it's a wheel! I wonder what…?"" says a pink caption box, which was probably supposed to be a thought bubble.

Another pink caption box reads, "Suddenly Catra rushed out of the forest. "What do you want, Feather-head?" "Catra! What are you doing here?" Peekablue asked. "I was taking a catnap. Now go away!" "Hummph!" Peekablue said as she walked away. But she thought, "I'm going to tell She-Ra about this.""

I really think they're doing this dialogue-within-captions schtick to torture me, specifically.

Peekablue is shown looking startled, the Crystal Falls once more in the background, as Catra leaps out of the bushes in front of her.

End Page 9.

Page 10: A pink caption box reads, "A little later the three friends met at Crystal Falls. Peekablue told what she had seen. She-Ra said, "I suspect Catra knows where the fish are. Let's find out." "Wait," Mermista said. "I want to go along." She dove, then flipped out of the water, her silvery tail dancing on its surface for a moment." We see Mermista, surrounded by a few perfect tendrils of water, suspended above the surface as Peekablue and She-Ra watch.

A pink caption box reads, "Then with a spin she landed delicately on the shore on two legs!" and we see a four-stage, Animorphs-style transition between her two forms.

""There. I'm ready!"" says Mermista, to a smiling She-Ra. Her hair is a little more purple than usual, but it plays off the yellow in the background well.

End Page 10.

Page 11: A pink caption box reads, "The friends soon found Catra's waterwheel and watched as more fish were caught in the nets. She-Ra said, "I thought so!" On the ground nearby were blueprints for Catra's plans, and She-Ra looked them over. "An amusement park! Leave it to Catra!" She-Ra stopped the wheel, but Catra, who heard their voices, came running. "

She-Ra stares at the plans in apparent wonder as Peekablue and Mermista look over her shoulder. Fifteen of the yellow fish are trapped in the fishbowl. Mermista's pants are orange. Peekablue is smiling for some reason.

""Just what do you think you're doing here?"" asks Catra, who looks mildly affronted with her hands on her hips and a single eyebrow raised. She's missing her gloves again.

End Page 11.

Page 12: ""Saving my fish friends from your clutches!"" says Mermista, with no expression whatsoever. Her necklace, which is a shell on the toy and a simple pendant in the Filmation show, is a tiny yellow fish. Presumably it spits water the same way.

""They're mine now, Miss Scaley-tail! Now go away before I…"" says Catra, with a mild frown.

A pink caption box reads, "But Catra had no chance to finish her threat because Mermista quickly drenched Catra with her water spray. "Yeee-ow!" Catra screeched, as she jumped back. "I think you're the one who should leave, Catra," said She-Ra "while we try to undo your mischief.""

Catra is soaking wet now. Would have been nice to show that action, instead of just telling us about it! Would have been a nice break from shot-reverse-shot close-ups! She-Ra, Mermista, and Peekablue all smile at her. Her gloves are still missing.

End Page 12.

Page 13: A pink caption box reads, "As Catra ran off, She-Ra lifted the giant fishbowl overhead and dumped it into the stream. "I think it's time you fellas went back home to Crystal Falls," she said. And the fish were very happy to do so." The illustration shows She-Ra doing that. You know, redundantly.

""I don't think we should leave this here either, She-Ra. Catra may use it again," says Peekablue, pointing at the wheel contraption.

""You're right, Peekablue. And I think I have a good idea," says She-Ra.

End Page 13.

Page 14: A pink caption box reads, "Later, under the water at Crystal Falls, She-Ra and Mermista turned Catra's wheel into a ferris wheel. The nets were replaced by little seats. Their friends rode happily 'round and 'round! Mermista said, "I wish Catra could see her waterwheel now!"" The fish have set up a tiny admissions booth and everything. Various sea creatures gambol about.

In an oranger-than-usual 'moral' font color, She-Ra says, ""Yes, and I wish Catra would learn that it's not right to use others to get ahead."" Girl, what? You mean the fish? You guys just assaulted her, stole her waterwheel, and undid days of work because she didn't immediately agree to your demands. Now is the time for a moral about how removing species can negatively impact a biome, or against cruelty to animals (not that 1986 was necessarily ready for that). Is this a good time to mention Mattel owned The Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus for a couple years?

""Now—how about a ride?"" She-Ra suggests to Mermista, beckoning her on. They won't even fit in the tiny little seats. Stop benefiting from using others, She-Ra. It's immoral.

End Page 14.

End ID.]

#minicomics #motu #a fishy business #she-ra #mermista #catra #peekablue #adora #spirit #the sea harp

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dolphin1812 · 1 year

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Hugo’s sympathetic to this order and its loss: of its general status as religion becomes less of a part of French society, of its nuns (as they die), and of its own structure (as the number of nuns is so small that they can’t keep all their traditions anymore). It’s horrifying to see how quickly this wears down the nuns:

“The burden is implacable, and remains the same for the few as for the many. It weighs down, it crushes. Thus they die. At the period when the author of this book still lived in Paris, two died. One was twenty-five years old, the other twenty-three.”

The strain clearly caused premature deaths, and it was likely psychological as well as physical. Praying “perpetually” is difficult with so few to make sure it’s done at all times, but it must also be very isolating, making the sleep deprivation (and the austerities) much worse.

At the same time, he’s very clear on another point: the convent had to go. Society no longer endorsed it, finding it so “rigid” that everyone came to “recoil” at it:

“At the beginning of the Restoration, the convent of the Petit-Picpus was in its decay; this forms a part of the general death of the order, which, after the eighteenth century, has been disappearing like all the religious orders. Contemplation is, like prayer, one of humanity’s needs; but, like everything which the Revolution touched, it will be transformed, and from being hostile to social progress, it will become favorable to it.”

“Progress” is overtly mentioned in the last sentence here; as social values were irrevocably changed by the Revolution, it’s impossible for the convent to return to its former status. In fact, it was destined to “die” because of the decreased status of religion. Its horrific aspects may have hastened this end, but there was no chance of it really recovering. It’s sad on the individual level (the suffering nuns), but, to return to the Conventionist, can the pain of individuals (whether they be kings or nuns) be compared to the structural injustices these systems inflict?

Hugo doesn’t reject the convent entirely, either. He argues that both “contemplation” and “prayer” - its two main functions - are “human needs.” He also says that “demolitions” must be followed by “reconstructions,” implying that while the convent itself follows a cruel model, its goal is, in some ways, a noble and vital one. A similar organization that does not deprive women to this extent (possibly to please the wealthy, based on the story of a convent’s founding in the previous chapter; and limited to the wealthy, based on that same story) should arise in its place.

(It’s also very Hugo to use an architectural metaphor to describe this).

I really love this paragraph:

“In the meantime, let us study things which are no more. It is necessary to know them, if only for the purpose of avoiding them. The counterfeits of the past assume false names, and gladly call themselves the future. This spectre, this past, is given to falsifying its own passport. Let us inform ourselves of the trap. Let us be on our guard. The past has a visage, superstition, and a mask, hypocrisy. Let us denounce the visage and let us tear off the mask.”

History always serves a purpose to Hugo, and here, it’s an educational and political one. Knowing history teaches us how to avoid the worst of it; avoiding these wrongs is inherently political. The Restoration, for instance, may have been that “counterfeit” posing as the “future,” bringing back a political order (the monarchy) and a religious emphasis that could not align with the values of the populace for long. History can’t be too judgmental, as Hugo insists that while we cannot “understand all,” we should “insult nothing.” Still, this idea of studying the past with this goal in mind is inextricably linked to his notion of Progress, which stipulates that the world must develop in a certain way and that we must be aware of possible obstacles (with “masks” or not) to that.

Spoilers below:

Reading about the decay of the convent really underscores how vital it was that Jean Valjean decide to leave it with Cosette. The decision was obviously important in that it let her experience more of the world before she made any choices on how to live her life, and it’s a key instance of Valjean prioritizing her well-being over his own. However, it may have literally saved her life as well. If Cosette had become a nun to stay in the convent, she would have been 32 when there were no longer enough nuns for the prioress to be an elderly woman. She would have been older than the women who died under the strain of their roles, assuming that the strain wouldn’t have killed her too. Staying in the convent would have chained Cosette to an old, rotting social order that would have destroyed her. Valjean was already scarred by this order (through the bagne) in a way that he never fully recovers from; he saved Cosette from the same fate.

#les mis letters #lm 2.6.11 #jean valjean #cosette #I am done with finals! so hopefully I'll be able to put more thought into these posts #although I genuinely know nothing about convents and probably couldn't elaborate if I tried #but now I just have graduation and will hopefully be able to write more once we're back to the plot!

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mysticraven20 · 23 days

Note

for the fic asks:

💖 🙌🍎📈🛌

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

Gabriel Gets Used To… — The first fic was written during a writers block. I decided to write from another characters POV and chose Gabriel Agreste. I love this one will all my heart!

The Situationship — to me it’s everything I stand for as a writer. Romance. Humour. And a dash of seriousness!

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

The proposal in Let’s Be Us Again

Marinette watched as a wide smiling Adrien let go of her hands and moved in front of her, dropping down onto one knee and offering the box up towards her. She was almost blinded as he opened the lid, the city lights reflecting off the emerald cut diamond and making it look nothing less than magical.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, this is the engagement ring of Adrien Agreste, which grants the power of my unwavering love and devotion for my remaining years to come. You'll use it for the greater good. Once the mission is over, you'll be mine forever.... Can I trust you?”

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

While writing Poisson d’Avril! I learned a lot more about the French tradition of sticking fish on each other’s back on April Fools Day. That was fun!

📈Which are your top three most popular fics by bookmarks?

A Masked Deal

"I know we both struggle with holding down a relationship, and obviously if villains are still around we're never going to be able to commit, so how about we commit to each other? If neither of us are in a relationship by twenty-two we marry each other."

Two heroes ... Ladybug and Chat Noir

One deal ... "If we're not married, we'll marry each other.

One reveal ... on the wedding day

A Renewed Friendship

Adrien Agreste was a famous Olympian. He'd given up everything to pursue his dream, much to his fathers dislike. But an injury takes him out the sport forever and his playboy attitude from over the past three years is causing trouble for his aspiring career.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a designer who wishes to become famous. She is struggling to get her big break thanks to being black listed by none other that Gabriel Agreste, Adrien's father. She dreams for her little company to expand and finally get the recognition it deserves.

Perhaps these two old friends can help each other out. He needs to change his playboy imagine and she needs someone to wear her designs and take her seriously.

No kwami's or Miraculous

Inspired by ‘Fix Her Up’ by Tessa Bailey

The Honey Trap

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was fed up of men and after finding her fiancé in bed with somebody else, she was hell-bent that no woman would ever feel the way she did.

A year on and she is one of Paris’ most successful honey trappers.

Still recovering from the emotional turmoil of not only her failed relationship but also from the one night of bliss with her childhood crush, Marinette puts all her time and energy into exposing cheating men. That is until a unique opportunity comes up.

Three years after their night together, Adrien Agreste is back in her life, and she has six weeks to trap him. The only problem is Adrien isn’t the only one keeping secrets and Marinette finds herself in a tangled web of secrets, lies and lust.

🛌 What's a trope you haven't written, but want to?

I’d like to write a brother’s best friend/worst enemy trope…but it would be quite difficult to write in this fandom and I’m not sure anyone would read it!

#adrienette #ladynoir #marinettedupaincheng #adrienagreste #miraculous #fanfic ask game #ask games #ask me anything #ask game

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thewrongexecution · 10 months

Text

this post is about ffxiv oc lore, not any well-known mythological figures. thank you for your understanding.

Been thinkin' about Theseus lately.

(Theseus is my Azem. If you don't know what that means: don't worry about it! these sorts of posts are as much to vacate my own brainspace as communicate ideas to others. you know how it is.)

((See, twitter didn't allow me the space to post these sorts of disclaimers, which really was a blessing. kept me on point. Hardly a paragraph in and I'm already digressing. not that that's a problem per se, just. different.

anyway.))

I love the way ffxiv plays with the theme of... mirrors, reflections- foils, that's the word- the three-body problem of being You And No-One Else, The Masks You Wear, and A Bit Of Everyone Who's Ever Touched Your Life all at once. (Millennia and Tataru, I realized just some few days ago, is itself a mirror of Ardbert and Lamitt, which is a fun joke for my brain to play on itself imo.) So how do I take my WoL (Millennia) and refract her through a funhouse mirror to reach my Azem (Theseus)?

Theseus has remained in the semi-fluid state a narrative device tends to take when the internally-understood path from A to B is nonlinear or otherwise opaque, but I've made recent progress by working backwards.

Personality-wise, I've always enjoyed taking canon depictions and extrapolating them far beyond what anyone involved might've reasonably intended (ask me about Luigi's Persona sometime), so how do I rationalize Millennia as the type of Silent Protagonist depicted in a way that makes sense was a fun puzzle to chip away at. (She's severely traumatized and dissociating due to post-calamity events for most of ARR, and only starts to recover after successfully killing a god or two makes her go, hang on a minute, shouldn't I actually be dead by now? Y'know, as ya do.)

I describe his style of speech as eloquent minimalism, the idea being to pack as much meaning as densely as possible for maximum impact; deliberate, measured, and a little bit like poetry:

"How have you been?"

You are a friend who I trust with knowledge that could otherwise shake public confidence in The Warrior of Light (TM) if shared freely. This last adventure nearly killed me, but even more so than usual, in a way that even I was worried I might not survive. There is a tale here, and I want you to stop and listen fully and without distraction. How do I convey all that as minimally as possible?

"Mortal."

So, how to rebuild that in a way that is-and-is-not the same, reflecting the attitudes and society of the Ancients?

Efficient brutalism.

"How have you been?"

You are a confidant who I trust with knowledge that could otherwise shake public confidence in The Seat of Azem (TM) if shared freely. This last adventure nearly killed me, but even more so than usual, in a way that even I was worried I might not survive. There is a tale here, but it has ended, and there's no need to recount it. How do I convey all that as efficiently as possible?

"Dead."

Millennia is the silent protagonist that thinks carefully about the meaning behind everything she says- and doesn't say; posture, gesture, expression, and a variety of hums and grunts can all convey in moments what would take a wordsmith minutes. Theseus, in contrast, is the silent protagonist who sees no need for small talk or pleasantry; they rarely even blink, let alone smile or frown or wave.

But the double-edge of being quiet is it leaves a lot of room for others to speak for you. Because they're both public figures, the public decides for them that they're stoic or cool or haughty or wise or what-have-you. So it goes.

For combat, I previously posited Theseus could wield a Gun or Keyblade or Keygunblade, and while those're great as jokes, they don't necessarily make for a great parallel. Millennia herself started out as a Warrior, but possessed only middling physical prowess; to compensate, he relied on clever tactics and psychological warfare to cow his enemies and strike unexpectedly. These days, she has a full suite of esoteric combat styles at her disposal, and relishes the opportunity to accumulate more.

So, a collection of varied combat styles, emphasis on unconventional tactics over raw power, and maybe a connection to Warrior.

It's Blue Mage. No wait come back hear me out on this one

It's not literally Blue Mage; rather than cast the same powers as their foes, Theseus studies how beasts and creatures fight, and adapts those combat techniques for personal use. A martial rather than magical art, similar to Monk or Ninja, coupled with the visceral terror of an unblinking robed cryptid scuttling menacingly towards you at coeurl speeds. "so what's the connection to Warrior" Inner beast, outer beast. Funhouse mirrors, innit.

And because it's Ancient and because I'm me: someone who studies the ways of war of living things is, of course, a Biologist.

The ultimate and final measure of any Azem, then, is "How bad can they clown on Emet-Selch?"

Imagine they are sparring. Emet has taken one look at this upstart wiry gangler and decided there's no possible way they could be an appropriate heir to the Seat of Azem. The job is difficult and dangerous and this Elezen-before-Elezen simply does not have what it takes. Theseus just knows they've been assigned a task to their quest log, and doesn't give it any more thought than that. So they are sparring.

Emet asks how they fight and they say only "Biologist." Emet clarifies, not your vocation, not your profession, your combat style. They drop to all fours and, as if the phone they aren't communicating over had a bad connection, repeats "Biologist," before going zero to sixty on the old man.

Later in the fight, Emet starts spouting some grand monologue about true power and transforms. Theseus... doesn't. Emet questions this decision, but without hesitation or consideration, Theseus simply says "I like being me," and resumes adding injury to insult.

#ffxiv #wol stuff #shoutouts to P9 for some amount of inspiration

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sk3tch404 · 1 year

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Lmao np <33 I always enjoy drawing Yandere's as pathetic lil meow meows hehe (funfact: I actually drew Rory first but after I finished his lineart I was like, wait shit I don't have a full color reference- and then I hyperfocused on drawing jay instead lol)

Also, you 🤝 me: jayce + jack o' lanterns = stonks ✅ ✅ ✅

Also also, ngl if Darling were self-aware she'd def hate me, because I always try to speedrun the Bad ending first lmaooo

Also^3, every time I hear baggy pants, I can't help but remember the boys I went to school with a few years ago, who wore the most ugly, most a t r o c i o u s pairs of baggy pants I have ever seen 💀💀

For Reference: https://imgur.com/a/fZsHsF7

This is what I'm talking about^^ like pls,, just sTO P-

About the blue reference, the paragraph I meant was the one about how I only liked EJ so much because of his BLUE mask 😔 young me truly set the bar too low (maybe it's because of him that I'm attracted to most fictional mad scientists/doctors with no morals now, damn this bastard 😒)

Oh, and the OG mikey myers Movie is the 1978 one! ^^

And finally about the Christian Gang /hj (every holiday Yandere of yours has/used to have strong Christian influences but these three are still considered extra Christian to me so I'm just gonna start calling em that lolololol)

Gonna be honest, when you revealed that one of them was gonna be Christmas, I immediately headcanoned him as just some guy in Christmas elf costume- thank god that's not the case though (I say, even though I know damn well that I'm still gonna draw him in that costume the nanosecond you drop a ref for him, because he's a lil skrimblo who needs to get a reality check via me shitposting him into humility)

Also ofc the twins are ginger 😒🙄 /derogatory /j okay but fr, whenever I see a fictional ginger online I'm like ....Ed Sheeran??? 😱😱 (coughcoughchildecough)

-Ren'py anon

OKAY OKAY I'LL DROP A SMIDGE OF RORY SPRITES SO U CAN COLOR IT BBG

He only wears shades outside lol

HEHEHE YES JACK O'LANTERN STONKS GO UP IN THE BRAIN CELL ACTIVITY

Eh, I mean, its always fun to get the bad ending first though. Just to see then get all angry and violent 😍 good shit tbh

MC would def hate you, but I feel like it would take a bit to get the bad bad ending yk? I don't have the obvious, good/neutral/bad choices most of the time (although there are some choices that will obviously lead to negative consequences lol)

JAYCE ONLY WEARS THE ONES IN STYLE RN NOT THOSE LMAOOOO

Though they can look good if done right, those boys at school were definitely not doing it right 💀

Now I understand the blue reference! Ugh how did I MISS IT SO BAD 😭 gosh you were going crazy abt him and the color blueeeeee

I understand how that all kick started ur obsession with fucked up men. We are one in the same 😎

Hehehe thank you for the confirmation! I will be watching Myers stand there menacingly as I look up fics of him 😍

It's so funny that you call them the Christan gang, but it's not gonna have all the significant original values and whatnot. It's just a global holiday thingy that everybody does regardless of religious background (Though I'm glad you still see their origins and acknowledge their important purpose to many other people!)

GOD HELP WHY? I ONLY WATCHED LIKE 10 MINUTES IF THAT ELF MOVIE WHEN I WAS IN 6TH GRADE DURING LUNCH? WHY WERE THEY PLAYING IT DURING LUNCH YOU ASK? BC OF CHRISTMAS OR SMTH IDK, BUT IT WAS OKAY IG

It would be very funny to see him as an elf that works at the mall as a side 😇 He needs it anyway

Regarding the Twin's, THEY HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE MAKE GINGER JOKES, SO BAD. THE MINUTE SOMEONE SAYS ANYTHING ABT ED SHEERAN AROUND THEM, THEY EITHER ZIP OUT OF THERE OR FIGHT. NO IN BETWEEN.

Typical gingers 🙄 so sensitive dude

Childe is one of the only gingers I can tolerate. If these two didnt have a life and played Genshin, they would favor Childe so much.

#renpy anon #sorry this took ao long to answer #rory flynn

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creek-cryptid-deluxe · 2 years

Text

Hey everyone (aka the like... 2 to 5 entities that actually read my bullshit) sorry I've kinda not been *actually* posting but just reblogging random stuff I enjoyed seeing. Things have been... rough. So here's a smol condensed update:

Oral surgeon took out those 2 broken teeth... for $1700. Two or three days later, the last one on the other side of my bottom jaw crumbled even more. Now I just live with ambesol soaked gauze on it because getting it out would be around $900 in my estimation (based on the cost of the 2) that I don't have. I owe my dad $1k for the originals.

The Spawn's car had a radiator fan issue right before she left for her week of vacation in Puerto Rico. The Bf's dad couldn't fix it, so my dad took it to the shop he uses & they fixed it.

The Spawn & The Bf got back on Tuesday night. Wednesday she was beat down but figured it was jetlag. Thursday she seemed to be having really bad allergies but just in case it was a cold, I wore a mask & kept my distance. Friday Dad starts to have similar symptoms, so they think summer cold. I continue the mask & distance gig, even though both act offended at different times about it.

I also made a boat load of cupcakes from scratch on Friday because I had a craving. We had lemon white chocolate cakes with blueberry lemon frosting and raspberry chocolate chip cakes with my chocolate whipped frosting that I added a bit of raspberry pureé to. They were amazing. There are multiple adults that don't like cakes or frosting that loved them & Key (my neighbor & new bff) asked if I'd make cupcakes when her youngest needs stuff like that for school & allow her to take credit for them. I obviously agreed.

Saturday evening I hear The Spawn & Dad coughing. Now, they had both had a cough for a couple days but this cough sounded extremely suspect. So I threw covid tests at their faces & lo and fucking behold, The Spawn brought a souvenir back from Puerto Rico in the form of motherfucking covid. She & Dad tested positive, while The Bf & I tested negative. I scrambled to find a place to go so I could... idk STAY ALIVE but it was late that night. So I left the next morning & have been @ Lou's ever since... except that it was his week to have all 3 of the kids (V- a 12 yr old boy, A- a 9 yr old girl, & H- a 4 yr old girl. The oldest are from his first marriage, the last is from his brief marriage to my ex bestie. Both women let them run wild & cave to their every demand, so they are feral.)

It is now friday. The Bf was TOLD to stay downstairs, only going up wearing a mask to bring supplies to the plague twins. But nobody fucking listens to me & now he has it. Additionally, the upstairs ac went out over there so all my shit got contaminated by them crashing downstairs.

(Side note: during this catastrophe, The Spawn called me griping about how many bad things have happened since she got back and how she's the *only* one suffering. I attempted to explain that no she isn't & she proceeded to scream at me that Dad & I are simply inconvenienced... you know, my dad who is in the high risk age group and has the same virus in the same un-airconditioned upstairs as her & me who is disabled & heavily relies on a specific environment I've cultivated for myself but has had to evacuate from her own home into a place of CONSTANT noise all because she was careless on vacation & brought home covid. Everything that's happened aside from the ac is the result of her own actions. I hung up on her and when she text 3 paragraphs of abuse at me, I muted her, let dad know what happened & that I'm done providing anything outside of a place to live. This isn't the first time she's been verbally abusive when things don't go the way she expects or she is faced with the consequences of her own actions but now she's legally an adult.)

Lou's kids got to have a week of Auntie [Dr. M]'s Boot Camp, where we learn to respect each other & our home. We don't yell in the house, we aren't mean to each other, we clean up after ourselves. It was quickly learned that I don't respond to demands, require manners, don't tolerate lying or bullying, don't give a fuck if a tantrum is thrown or a dirty look is given, & absolutely give out consequences for actions both good & bad. They are unaccustomed to a woman laying down the damned law or someone consistently correcting their behaviors (because Lou is outnumbered & beat tf down).

I have also been able to help him with the house & yard (which I will be able to accomplish more of now that the kids are back @ their moms'). When he kicked out my ex-bestie a little over a year ago, he was left with the house & while she was a student/stay at home mom for the bulk of their relationship, she's a borderline horder and frankly a slob, so he was left with that mess. He was understandably depressed & then by the time he got more mentally healthy, being a single dad of 3 every other week made it an overwhelming task to get out from under it. So I did what I do... came into the house in a whirlwind of efficient cleaning & organization. He gave permission for me to just go through & do whatever I felt needed doing. (The borderline hoarding situation resulted in us finding shit he didn't even know about, and him giving me a bunch of shit like an unopened double boiler. We discovered 3 crockpots and an instant pot that he didn't know about. The crock pots went into a bin for donation & I gave him a manual for the instant pot.) When I finished the kitchen, he cried. Now I'm house/dog sitting today & tomorrow, so I'm going to buckle down & do some hardcore cleaning junk to as much of the house as possible. While the kids were here, I helped them do their bedrooms.

He asked why I would do all this & the answer was simple: I enjoy it, I'm really good at it, and I understand how hard it is to get out from under it when it's that bad, so if I can get it clean & organized it will be easier to maintain.

Also I can't go home til they all test negative & have sanitized everything. Woo.

So there's my overall update. My life is dope.

[Been a long time since I've had to do this but don't reblog my shitshow. Don't steal it for your buzzfeed or bored panda bullshit. Both those sites need to die imo. ( ಠ ʖ̯ ಠ) ]

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nim-lock · 3 years

Photo

[nudity warning]

anyway, Boot currently lives rent free in my mind, and. We’re going to talk about lizards, disability, and intimacy. A meet-the-OC/dissect the little man post—

Previously you got this information: “Boot is a herpetologist who happens to have a spinal cord injury & cystic fibrosis. The metal in his spine helps move his torso. Always has at least one reptile on him.”

and today you’re getting more! Boot grew up with the basic clone trooper training, and gradually realized there was a problem with his lungs. Due to the psyche of “I exist to serve a purpose/I am constantly afraid of failure” he did his best to hide this + spec’ed himself into a management position for keeping track of supply lines and people. Eventually his condition came to light, and it was deemed that he was useful enough to warrant treatment so that he could keep doing his job (doing absolutely NOTHING to help his “I am only kept alive because I am useful” mindset).

CF Paragraph - There can be 1800+ potential mutations in the cystic fibrosis gene, and this guy got one of them that was adult-onset. Cystic fibrosis is a genetic condition that causes mucus/sweat/digestive juices to be congealed, causing lung damage. Boot mostly manages this by occasional medication, chest massages, and the portable oxygen. He’s fairly sensitive to air quality, and wears a mask that looks like a clear altered version of the bottom of a clone trooper helmet. It filters things out for him.

[I have not quite decided where the spinal cord injury comes from (could be mundane like a bad fall, could be violence like an enemy attack), the effects of this will be examined a bit later down the post. ANYWAY the LIZARDS are because he got disconnected from the clone troopers, got told he could actually have hobbies and interests and do things for himself for once, and he was kind of like ??? Lizards are pretty great ??? Flash forward a number of years + a lot of therapy later, he’s a good fucking herpetologist.

Meet the herps

so first, the three on the right of the drawing are a smattering of the ones he has in his care. There’s Greebi, who’s most often his shoulder companion; they do well in strange situations and it brings Boot a sense of comfort knowing that his lizard is venomous af and can defend itself when needed.

Tup is a lil guy with anxiety who tries to fight anyone she’s not used to. The pair of small legs in front have serrated claws, which is great for digging out bugs in tree bark, and terrible for latching onto people.

Qiou is named off the chinese slang for ‘dirt poor and ugly’ in an affectionate way. It has no clue what money is. It is effervescent. Their business is just vibing. You can pick them up and they won’t know who they are, where they are, or who you are. This is fine for them.

There are a lot more I’m just letting them manifest when they’ve decided It’s Time

Disability and Intimacy

Like the goal of many people interested in a long-term relationship, Boot would very much like to have a friend to go through life with. It would be pleasant to share tasks with a person and be there for each other.

HOWEVER. Boot recognizes that due to the reality of his body, he will never experience certain things, and he’s grappling with “how do I redefine intimacy/sex to find things I do like and am able to take part in”, various issues with self-worth from the dehumanization of the way he grew up, and also the vague despair of “how will I find someone?” Mostly he tries to model self-worth for himself, like mentally ticking off some checkboxes of “am I being respected, is what I am being asked to do reasonable” and standing up for himself if they aren’t, even if he doesn’t fully believe in it some days.

DISCLAIMER once again that I do not have these conditions and I am doing My Reasonable Best at portraying them in a “this is something people live with” way; I understand that experiences are not universal.

Skip this section if you don’t want to hear about the specifics

Everyone with a spinal cord injury (SCI for future mentions) experiences things differently, so THIS PARTICULAR BOY experiences partial loss of sensation in his legs—he requires a mobility aid to walk—certain amounts of incontinence, and no sensation in his dick.

I like digging into fictional characters because my brain goes whee when thinking about the conditions other people live with

How this affects intimacy

“What’s the point of doing this repetitive motion if I cannot feel it to enjoy it”—people with SCI can get an erection from physical stimulation, but not necessarily from “thinking sexy thoughts -> physical arousal of genitals”; + sometimes the erection is hard to maintain/isn’t hard enough for certain acts. What I think this will look like for Boot is his idea of “best things a partner could do for him physically” would be a massage of his torso + arms. He likes being held with pressure around his chest.

Incontinence is part of this character bc I recognized I was uncomfortable with it and figured this was a good way to MAKE myself comfortable. ANYWAY. High percentage of people with SCI experience incontinence. Little man wears a condom catheter (goes around your dick, connected to a collection bag on your thigh or lower leg). Has better control of bowel movements but will wear a diaper when expected to go to unfamiliar places.

Definitely impacts intimacy with others because the partner would have to be pretty chill about bodily fluids and redirecting when sex doesn’t go quite the way you wanted it to

Things that could be done to work with things: - intimacy occurs after a recent restroom visit - waterproof furniture coverings - bed pads (like puppy pads but for humans) - strap-ons for people who already have dicks

All theoretical because Boot is very single but also he wants to fuck :V

MISC Headcanons

he has a group chat with a few clones he keeps in touch with, occasionally someone goes “This thing we grew up with is REALLY FUCKED UP” and everyone else goes “oHhHHhHHH”.

that also functions as their support system of doing People Things, like what the fuck is going on, all the time

tbh the boy is just some ordinary guy trying to get through life and have a good time with his lizards, that’s it really LOL He’s got a turtle conference coming up that he’s nervous about speaking at. I think what draws me into him is that he’s currently in a Very Good Place in life, better than ever, and I think it’s pretty hopeful knowing where he started. Kind of like a “life CAN get better” mindset.

extremely rambly post with probably so many typo’s but I have stared at this long enough, farewell, cheers, hope you have a great day

#clone trooper oc #clone oc #clone trooper boot #my art #long post

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lovetorn · 3 years

Text

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

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