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ay0nha · 6 months

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LIFE IS BUT A DREAM | SHANKS (OPLA)

SUMMARY: You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Shanks chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were young.

PAIRING: OPLA!Shanks x f!reader (Gold D. Roger's daughter)

WORDS COUNT: 3K~

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, enemies to lovers, jail, talk of death and things related, morally grey reader, ANGST, RUSHED ending, flowery language, injuries, blood, murder, random ocs (aka fictional villains inserts), idk really what the plot is besides just straight angst lol, etc.

A/N: I got a couple of Shanks requests, so I combined them all as they were very similar. Thank you SO much to @wood-white-writer for inspiring my reader and helping me along, and @togenabi for entertaining my rambling! I'm begging you to go check out their fics because they are *divine*. Enjoy.

The waves that thrust against the coast lulled you into a meditative state. It made the time pass with uncertainty. Even the briny smell of the warm breeze cradled you in a way that pulled the weight from your shoulders.

You never thought jail to be so idyllic.

It was tempting to postpone your escape for a bit longer; there were only so many opportunities to stretch your spine and rest. Yet, your left eye twitched, warning you your premonition was soon to be true.

It was on the simpler side, a vision of dark shadows intentionally elusive. The bars that separated you from the world were bent, promising damage from the strength that wasn’t your own. You knew he was coming. It was sooner than you thought, but you learned long ago that your foresight would never be reliable.

It favored him over you.

When you were younger, you thought you were crazy, seeing apparitions or former lives. However, as years passed, familiar faces began to fill your vision, showing truths you became excited to fulfill. But they became warped with opposing desires and reverberating fear wreathed with vindication.

It made things sour and sore. It allowed trouble to seek you out just to be ill-prepared for your counter. It wasn’t bravery that energized you, nor was it skill. Pure spite drove you to be the worst of all.

“On your feet.”

The serenity you had slipped through your fingers like warm sand. The guard repeated his command, using force to pull at the chains connecting your limbs. You couldn’t help but smile at what he thought was a punishment.

“Rumor has it, you’re hot shit.” The guard scoffed, voice echoing the dripping hallways. The way he trailed your body exposed his lust. “They’re not wrong by the looks of it…”

The guard’s weak come-ons warbled in your ears like a white noise. You used the moment to fulfill a repeated daydream. That liminal space presented your strength as you pulled your chains around the guard’s neck until there was no longer resistance.

The conversations were typically cyclical, feigned disinterest to disguise the anxiety your proximity created or those whose egos convinced they could charm you. You stopped paying attention to the rumors the more embellished they became. To some, you were a mercenary; to others, a frenzied psychopath.

The only truth they held was how deliberately unrestrained you were willing to be. There was no rhyme or reason behind it; at least you were close to convincing yourself of that. Regardless, it had gotten you far, the only thing you’d even consider reliable.

“You hear something?” The guard perked, pulling you harshly toward him. How brave of him to use me as a shield, you thought. Your attention returned when it sounded again, “Shit!—

The bang was loud—time had bested you.

You were lucky to recognize the canon’s whistle and use the commotion to regain an advantage. The current reality had yet to become your destiny. If you moved quickly enough, you wouldn’t have to catch your death in such a dilapidated place.

Maneuvering your body unnaturally, you felt for the knife hidden on your thigh. The guard was panicking despite training not to split on whether to keep his eyes on you or the trouble you unknowingly caused.

Using his momentary stupor, your chains wrapped tightly around his throat. It was better than any dream to feel the way the air caught in his body, never to be released. Any lingering struggle stopped when your knife found an artery.

The blood sputtered, feeling warm against your hands. It was messy, but its carnality evoked an almost erotic sensation that was inimitable. Plenty felt power connected to the strength it took to take away something vital. It corrupted them and blinded them from the true potentiality of the action.

It made life seem like nothing more than overflowing fragility. It was well-known time with the world and sea was limited, and eventually, everyone would end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. There was a purposeful lack of originality there solely due to fear of change.

Yet, when one danced with death, you became the music.

You wiped your fingers across your neck, rubbing the tight knots that met at your shoulders. The fresh blood would stain your skin, but you craved a performance. You readied yourself for the approaching marine boots. The staging was almost too believable, but every second was convincing.

“Fuck. Fuck—” The words tumbled from your quivering lip. You couldn’t think of anything else, repeating the curse. You smeared the blood on your shirt, a mindless move to rid yourself of taking someone’s life. “Help me, please. This man—I don’t—he came after me—the others are still back there, they’ll be here any moment—I didn’t know what to do—

“Still with the theatrics, eh?”

Your crocodile tears ceased to stream down your cheeks. The feigned, horrified expression turned into an unearthed fury. Shame on you for missing the stray red hairs at the nape of the guard’s neck.

“Shanks.” You greeted dryly. “You’re early.”

It was hard for Shanks to meet your eye. He was far from intimidated, but the wild look in your eyes made him hesitate. The years had been kind to you as if you traded your soul for youth. But it was a foolish thought that the devil would be so naive to make a deal with you.

“Was that necessary?” Shanks nodded to the man behind you.

“And I thought the canons were a bit excessive.” You tutted as if your opposing opinions were trivial. “And yet here we are…”

“Love—

You hadn’t believed in love, and you were ready to carry that grudge—until him. It wasn’t proper love, proving your skepticism in the emotion correctly. But it was the closest you’ve ever been, could ever be.

You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Shanks chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were young.

“Let’s get this on with,” You stopped him, moving swiftly to feel the body below you for anything valuable. “Tumole gave me up, then? That’s how you found me? Bastard.”

You smiled at the image: Shanks holding the poor man upside down, kindness still in his threats to find you. Violence was never necessary with Tumole, always one to ramble away anyone’s secret for safety. However, it was as though you subconsciously left a clue, but you knew the crumbs Shanks found weren’t worth it.

“You really wasted your crew’s time on me...” You stood, pulling your neck until it popped. It had been a while since you had a one-on-one with Shanks, but you knew he’d always pull his punches. “Must really be desperate—

“I won’t fight you.” He tracked your posture. Your exterior was calm, but with every twitch calculated, you were nearing rabid. “It’s not worth it.”

“Tell me, then, what I’m worth to you, Shanks?” You taunted. It was obvious what he wanted to say: saving. His emotion was always his weakness.

His pause was intentional, stalling of sorts to let the exchange sink in. Standing under Shanks ' gaze, your body had a new form of reprieve. A facade wasn’t necessary, but you weren’t willing to lose more of yourself to another.

Your anger dissipated into a haze. It pulled a frown from Shanks as your breathing steadied only to slow. The harder you blinked, the more you forgot your argument. Even if you had held onto it, the lump in your throat wouldn’t allow it to exist.

Shanks’ lips shaped your name, but all you could hear was a mild ringing, a buzz. His step forward elicited an instinct to step back.

“Don’t—” You spat. Your left arm was like static, numb from the shoulder down, an ironic consequence of dismissing your opposite. “—fucking touch me.”

Your vision was the last to go, allowing you to watch yourself crumble; your knees locked, and the palm of your hands broke your fall, exposing how blood pooled from your arm. When did that happen? It had nothing to do with pain tolerance or adrenaline; you were distracted by your vision, doing what you could to change its form.

However, your effort was useless to make sense of it. You read it wrong; forgetting things such as foresight was rarely linear. As the world around you closed in, clouding your vision, you realized the open bars weren’t an entrance to your cell. Rather, it was the exit Shanks carried you through with success.

You were never destined to win.

—

The dream always teased you with muddled memories.

They always started the same, a mirrored image of the room you grew up in. Only a few feet separated the sacks the headmistress would call your beds. Your fingertips felt the scratchy fabric of the cheap blankets.

When the dreams first began, you believed they were real, that you’d never left the dormitory of the dingy children’s home. But the feeling of the monochrome bedding was always wrong, your dream never quite getting the textures correct. So, there was no room for nostalgia.

It was as if you were stuck in a loop, hand rhythmically gliding across the bedding in hopes of softening it. It was neither tranquil nor eerie. Its structure was that of a fever dream, its kaleidoscope quality provoking you to interpret it.

Its symbolization didn’t go past you, but it always felt uninvolved—superficial even. At the time, your child wonderment knew no difference between the life you had and the life you were meant to exist in.

As any child did, you dreamed of silks and decadent food. Candies and luxuries. You dreamed of family and warmth. Hope drove those fantasies, but there was no point in clinging to hope when you found out you weren’t wanted.

Gol D. Roger. Pirate King. The name circled every coastal town and seeped into every deep forest. His mirth was enviable, and his skill indomitable. You wanted to hold indifference toward him, but every bounty you saw enamored you. He made hope seem regainable.

You looked down at your hand, seeing your hand change shape with each slow swipe across the bed. Your slender fingers became older, calloused. Experienced. Moving to see the palm, you saw the lifeline had ended and an elaborate red sleeve scratched at your—Gol D. Roger’s—wrist.

You flinched as if you were burnt. You wanted to rid yourself of the attachment by any means. But it didn’t matter when your blood was intertwined. There was no escaping your lineage, your father.

The longer you lingered with the feeling, your surroundings slowly morphed. A wind picked up but hadn’t raised chills across your arms—not yet. You wanted to stretch now that your hand became your own again.

However, a sway lulled you into your environment. The ships were always different, never ones you recognized. You’d like to praise your brain’s creativity, but you knew you’d step foot on every deck at some point in life. If you were smart, you would have noted each and every one. It was hard to when the horizon seemed so…

“The tide is strange…” You hummed. Although your voice vibrated in your chest, it felt delayed, like an echo of someone else.

A hand trailed your spine with warmth. Goosebumps littered your body. You hadn’t thought to fight them, knowing the touch belonged to someone who put far too much faith in you.

“Am I finally rubbing off on you?” Shanks matched your hum, creating more serenity than you could handle. It was purposeful to calm you and invite you in.

“No, no…” You echoed again, shaking your head. Shanks continued with his charm, making promises that the sea and he could fulfill. However, your eyes didn’t leave the shore, the tide much more vast than you’ve ever seen. “...no, there’s—There’s something changing it.” You paused, nausea hitting you boldly. “...someone…maybe? Don’t you feel that?”

Another laugh, more hollow than the last. You had yet to face Shanks, only trusting his touch. It started to burn when you finally turned to him. He was physically present, but his eyes were vacant as if a copy of himself.

“Love, just try and relax.” His smile was plastered, almost painfully. “Nothing's wrong anymore. Nothing will change—

You frowned. “Shanks—

“She won’t hurt us.” Shanks caught you in his hold. You finally understood the deception and recognized the wolf in sheep’s clothing. “She gave me her word.”

—

You jolted awake.

The image wasn’t explicit, but it made you squirm; your back arched against the deck’s railing until your fingertips touched the waves below. You never sunk or floated, but you breathed in the water and felt it swallow you whole with a salty taste.

Your chest was tight, careful not to suck in your breath too quickly. Despite still being bleary-eyed, you knew you weren’t alone. You knotted your fingers in the bed’s fabric to ground you. The room's scent reminded you to breathe before succumbing to your subconscious torture again.

“You alright?” Shanks called from the deepest corner of the room. He was swift to strike a match to see your condition for himself.

The candlelight illuminated the gauze that nurtured your stiff arm. Shanks reprimanded you slightly as you pushed yourself up. Shanks knew you well, understanding that you were already seeking an escape from whatever plagued you. The look in your eye told him you would run regardless of a purpose.

“What did you see?” His voice remained calm, tone unwavering with vigilance.

“I didn’t.” Your defiance was your only form of defense on his ship.

Slight relief came from how Shank’s eyebrow dared to twitch with frustration. It meant he was real. Your blood pumped slower at the unorthodox respite. You continued to move, to stand despite your sore body. Shanks was still blocking your way to the door, but you paced lightly to rid yourself of the jitters.

“You can talk to me.” Shanks knew you were frazzled, and he was determined to coax the cause out of you. “I understand why you’re—

“Daddy dearest has nothing to do with this.” You hissed, hating the assumption. “Don’t you understand there was a reason your beloved captain left me to rot all those years ago? When will you learn to do the same?”

Shanks didn’t lack sympathy for you, but he understood why your father chose to keep you away from the life that proved only to hurt you. Shanks intended to keep the promise he made to you before you learned it was by the instruction of your father.

“I gave my word.” Shanks countered. His word choice made you flinch, your dream still fresh. He softened to repeat himself. “I gave my word to keep you safe. This has nothing to do with —

“Safe with a pirate, eh?” You scoffed, picking up what was most likely a stolen treasure. You held no qualms with his lifestyle, but you refused the overlap Shanks wanted to share. “That’ll be the fucking day.”

You felt a needle of pain in your nose like you were near tears, the guilt settling the bile in your throat. The game of cat and mouse was getting old. It was a facetious argument you used for distraction. The bravado you held was angry and vengeful.

“I know you’ve heard the rumors…” Shanks sighed as if his strategy to coax a conversation out of you backfired. “Cain is spreading out, searching for you. She won’t stop this time.”

You dropped the small object of treasure back into its place. Any emotion was swallowed and digested. There was little energy left to pretend to argue. You needed to leave the room before you suffocated. Shanks wouldn’t block if you tried.

You lingered, waiting for him to spit out the obvious. “Look, I know you saw her—

“I felt her.” Your expression, even mixed with vulnerability, was composed with passivity. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.

Your admission was desperate, breaking a tension that had filled the air. You wouldn’t crumble. You tried to hold it in, breathing evenly to suppress any sobbing urge. It was neither the time nor the place for added emotion.

“I need to know the full story.” He replied thoughtfully.

He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by being across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Shanks’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

You wanted so badly to trust him. You sought his comfort. The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled.

“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You always leaned on pessimism. “I want nothing to do with this. With her.”

“I’ll be beside you the entire time,” Shanks promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you couldn’t accept it wholly.

“And my interests?”

Shanks’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. “It depends on where they lie.”

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Shanks could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would warm your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

Although you were still present, Shanks watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Shanks’ eyes were pleading, and you went to chastise him, but you found something distinct there.

You didn’t know what to do with it, but to muse a buried thought. "...Empathy will get you killed, Shanks.”

“Then, I am a dead man walking.”

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mokulule · 8 months

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Trauma Tuesday

This week in Trauma Tuesday I figured why not give Jason some dissection trauma for a change. So warning for that.

DP x DC, dead on main

Next to his parents a man’s body laid on a steel table, chest cut open, ribs broken and sticking up. Everything was glistening red.

“His heart’s not beating,” Nightwing said faintly in horror as they all realized they were too late.

“What have you done!” Danny exclaimed in despair. “Why? He’s human!”

There were lines. Lines he’d hoped his parents wouldn’t cross. Liminal or not, somehow Danny hadn’t expected they’d kill him. Experiment yes, but cut him open so he bled out?

“He’s no more human than you!” His mother snarled.

And that had Danny’s head snapping to the body. Could it be?

He zipped over and pushed his parents away with a shield, instantly they started shooting at him and his shield. He willed it to hold against the ectopowered blasts. Then focused on the body.

If he was no more human than Danny, that would mean- a tiny wisp of cold air escaped his lips as he found it, his core. Small and malnourished and somehow running on the worst ectoplasmic slough-off he’d ever seen; it was fucking beautiful.

“Hey,” he whispered reaching in intangibly cradling his hands around it where it was inside the heart itself. A consciousness shifted inside and Danny felt a wave of relief and he choked on a laugh or a sob, he wasn’t sure.

“He’s alive,” he shouted over the blasts against his shield.

“His heart’s not beating! Even if you could start it-“ Nightwing didn’t have to continue; they could all see what had been done.

But they didn’t understand.

“He’s not gone,” Danny snarled, “Deal with them.” He tossed his head towards his parents. “And I will deal with this.”

He had a core. He wasn’t just liminal. He was like Danny; that was why they’d cut him open.

Jason felt floaty, cradled safely in a way that was hard to explain. Distantly in his chest there was pain. It made no sense what was going on?

There was a flash of relief and then a soothing hum met the question, and an echoey voice spoke:

“Try to relax, you’re very bad off.”

Bad off? What had happened?

A shudder of grief ran over him, was the voice crying?

“I’m so, so sorry, they hurt you because you’re like me.”

There was more to the story, a complicated knot of feelings: grief and disappointment, loss, betrayal.

“But look at you, you’re so amazing.” There was a wave of pride and love, large and encompassing and Jason had no clue what to do with it. He felt- he didn’t know how to describe it: Full? Bursting? Like he was about to cry. What had he done to warrant that?

Why? Why would you?

“You are of mine, and that in itself is enough. But you are even like me.” There was a sense of wonder and longing, tickling at the edges of his awareness.

“You are so resilient, somehow you’ve managed to survive even crippled by poisoned ectoplasm.”

He got the distinct impression of a feral smile.

“Let’s see what your core can do with the good stuff.”

It felt like a shock to his chest. A jumpstart and suddenly he felt it. The ball of energy that was him, his essence, his core, and the steady stream of energy being poured in. He was more his core than he was his body.

His body, which he knew wasn’t supposed to be like this, cut open, bleeding, dying. But his body was human and human bodies required so much more than just energy to heal, how was he-

“Don’t worry. Trust, Jason. I’m giving you the energy, just trust your core to know what’s right.”

A frisson of worry shot through him.

What about you?

He felt another smile, and beneath that more affection. Somehow, despite not quite feeling the pain from his gaping chest he could feel fingers tenderly running through his hair.

“It won’t hurt me, I’m also quite resilient.”

So as implied here there’s a reveal gone bad in the past between Danny and his parents. They now work for the GIW.

The rest of the story you’ll find out later, there’s probably some other bits here and there that would be good for Trauma Tuesday.

#trauma tuesday #dp x dc #dead on main #vivisection #dissection #aftermath #This story doesn’t have a title yet #so not sure was to call it

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captain-hawks · 3 months

Note

Just for good measure

Megumi + sunscreen + red

-mojogojocasahouse🩵

megumi fushiguro x reader

c: timeskip, fluff, best friends to lovers speed run beach edition, kissing

“Did you really fall asleep?”

You wake to the sound of Megumi’s low, amused voice, the warm exhale of his breath hitting your cheek. Eyes shooting open in alarm, you turn your head sideways, only to immediately regret the decision when you find his face mere inches away from yours. He stares at you expectantly, head tilted slightly to the side in that stupidly endearing way that you’re far more fond of than you have any right to be.

He’s crouched down beneath the beach umbrella, the hot sun overhead washing him in a muted hue of red as the bright rays try to push their way through the fabric. You can hear Yuji and Nobara arguing over something or other out in the waves as you take in the sight of Megumi’s ocean-tousled hair, sand sprinkled generously throughout his dark locks.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” you protest, trying to ignore the way your heart fumbles as you meet his gaze. (It’s futile, given the evidence of the book you were reading lying abandoned beside you.)

He chuckles, reaching up to brush a grain of sand from your cheek. “You’re a horrible liar.”

He’s your best friend.

“You’re one to talk.”

He’s your best friend.

Megumi rolls his eyes, though you know the gesture to be fond.

He’s your best friend whose bed you accidentally fell asleep in last night, only to wake up in the middle of the night with your back to his front, your bodies curled around one another with far too much ease.

“I bet you didn’t even make it past the first chapter of that book.”

He’s your best friend who you think about kissing far more than you should.

“I made it to the third chapter, thank you very much.”

He’s your best friend, and the familiar, clean scent of his body wash that you’ve grown so used to is drowned out by the soft smell of coconut left behind by the sunscreen you’d forced into his hands earlier. And something about that anomalous detail makes this moment feel suspended in some liminal space, one where you’re dangerously close to making a bad decision as your traitorous eyes stray to his lips.

Megumi raises an eyebrow, and for a moment you panic that he knows just what you’re thinking about, until he goes to reach for the book, clearly in an effort to fact check your claim.

(You definitely lied.)

Balking, you try to deflect him, grasping his wrist, and then far too many things suddenly happen at once—

A violent gust of wind blows by.

The umbrella shudders, on the verge of taking flight.

You reach for it.

Megumi reaches for it.

The wind hits again from a different angle, tugging the umbrella in another direction.

You try to sit up, Megumi dives sideways.

And as the wind dies down, you find yourselves in a tangle of limbs. Megumi’s on top of you, using one arm to keep the brunt of his weight off of your body, his other hand pressing down into yours in the sand. It’s hard to tell where your legs begin and his end, with the way your ankle is hooked around his calf, his thigh pressing firmly against your own.

He’s your best friend.

He stares down at you, face inches away from your own, and the pages of the book flop open lazily in the remnants of the breeze, the receipt you’d been using as a bookmark now long gone.

“I guess we’ll never know,” you whisper, heart pounding so loud that you’re half certain he’ll hear it over the crashing of the waves and the screeching of the gulls.

Megumi runs on the cool side, something you’ve complained about more than once whenever his bare feet nudge your own while you’re sitting side by side on the couch watching movies. But now, he’s anything but, his sun-baked warmth soaking into every part of you that he’s touching—and at this point, it’s just about everywhere.

The hand that’s atop yours shifts ever so slightly, and yours seems to move of its own accord, pressing upward into his. Slowly, he intertwines your fingers. Coated in sand, the friction of skin on skin is coarse, but you revel in it anyway—the way your hands fit together.

He’s your best—

“I’ll just have to take your word for it, then.”

Your throat feels so dry.

He takes his lower lip between his teeth, a subconscious habit that you find incredibly distracting, though never quite to the extent that you do now in this very moment.

“Megumi.”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you thinking about?”

The beach towel flutters against your foot.

He’s your—

“This morning.”

This morning, when you woke up to find you’d shifted once again in the night, your face nestled on his pillow, noses nearly brushing.

This morning, when you swore you felt the hand that had drifted to your waist in the night curl tighter as you tried to scoot backward in embarrassment.

This morning, when his mouth nearly found yours, scant centimeters left between the demarcation line of your friendship in the hazy light of the rising sun.

He’d almost kissed you, if not for the pounding of a fist on his bedroom door, followed by the eager shout of Yuji’s voice to get ready to leave.

(Leaving you with nothing but the ghost of a kiss left behind by the heat of his lips.)

Something about the way he’s looking at you now makes you feel bold enough to say, “Where were we, again? I’ve been told I’m an unreliable narrator.”

He’s—

He lets out a huff of air through his nostrils, lips curling upward ever so slightly. “My favorite page, I think.”

And this time, even with the incoming sounds of Yuji and Nobara loudly bounding across the sand in your direction, there’s no hesitation in the way Megumi finally closes the gap and kisses you, hand cradling your jaw with tender familiarity as his lips purposefully slot against yours.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #jjk fanfiction #dee writes

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party-hearses · 24 days

Text

pairing: dieter bravo x gn!reader (no use of y/n, no reader descriptions)

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI

wordcount: 600

summary: you (kind of) write dieter a letter.

warnings/tags: ANGST, mention of drugs and alcohol. i think that's all but please lmk if i forgot anything!

a/n: this is for @beskarandblasters phoebe bridgers/boygenius drabble challenge! and who would have guessed that not only is it the first thing i've written in almost 6 months, but that 600 words still took me far too long to complete. beta’d by the best bro in the entire world @bastardmandennis but she’s perfect so all mistakes are my own. comment and reblogs are appreciated if you enjoy!

You watch, tongue between your teeth, as Dieter’s chest shallowly rises and falls from his crumpled place on the couch.

Sunglasses still perched on the bridge of his nose, matted green robe tied loosely around his middle.

The color of stomach bile, of envy, of resentment.

Crushed cans and empty liquor bottles litter the room like confetti — a party you’re no longer invited to, a celebration you’ve all but been cast out of. The light of the moon, too-full and too-round, bounces off the shimmering glass, casting brilliant beams of light across the angles of Dieter’s sleeping face.

I love you, I don’t know why.

A seedling planted at the base of your spine the moment you first pressed your lips to his, the growth nurtured by passing joints back and forth under the liminal space between late night and early morning, ‘I’m sorry’s murmured into the damp skin at the nape of your neck.

Watering the sprouts of something that feels too much like exhaustion, until they stretch to a length that feels too much like suffocating.

It was always going to end this way.

Dieter — too charming, too personable, too manic, too much. Held hostage to his own impulses, all he knew how to do was put his teeth to your throat and take. Consume.

He stirs under the light of the moon, hands searching for something, anything, to ground him, the raucous shouts and clinking glasses of the party gone, now. The infinite emptiness of the room swallowing him whole, now.

In another universe, you might have stayed to grasp his hand, to whisper i’m still here against his trembling fingertips.

Are you still here?

In another universe, he might have never taken you back to his trailer to pick you apart at the seams in the first place, to make you blush and squirm and whimper under the searing muscle of his tongue.

The possibilities filter past your eyes, a View-Master slide of every wouldbecouldbeshouldbe superimposed over the Dieter in this universe. The Dieter who wrapped the same tongue around the black hole of selfish, teeth scraping each letter into the tender flesh of your palm.

Just another wannabe ingenue, chewed up and spit out by the fame machine, with nothing to show but a blossoming cocaine addiction and too much credit card debt.

And what choice did either of you have, really, when you saw him on a pedestal and he saw you as an equal. A matching desperation to be seen, to be taken seriously in an industry that you didn’t take seriously.

I know you, I know you, I know you on the back of every breath of sticky smoke exhaled over the twinkling view of the city from the rooftop. I know you, I know you, I know you.

It was always going to end this way.

His unruly brown waves are matted to his forehead, sweat-damp skin glistening like you’re looking at him through the lens of a kaleidoscope.

You wonder how bad the hangover will be, how much his hands will shake as he rolls the first joint of the day, how long it will take him to notice.

It can’t even be called a letter, really. A scrap of paper, what might have been a receipt at one point in time. Faded, sticky, oil-stained, now. Folded in half and tossed to rest on his chest, still rising and falling rhythmically.

The loopy scrawl of your handwriting, weariness evident in every stroke that connects those four words.

You don’t know me.

It was always going to end this way.

#dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo angst #the bubble fanfiction

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ghostadjacentfae · 2 years

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Okay so I’ve got a bit of a kinda sorta really specific af idea that I am 90% I’ll never get to despite loving to bits so imma throw it to the wild and maybe some of you will like parts of it too. Okay? Okay.

Basic version: DP x DC prompt where Danny’s gotten deaged as part of another bid for the power of Ghost King. The title that Danny now is heir to. Jazz takes the now like 4-to-8 year old Danny, who barely remembers anything besides Jazz Good and Vlad Bad, and flees to Gotham to find help from somebody that Vlad won’t expect them to seek out help from. To leave Danny with while she goes into the Ghost Zone herself to look for help/a solution.

Longer one where I’ve gone a little very insane:

DP x DC prompt where Vlad’s deaged Danny as part of another bid for the power of Ghost King. The title that Danny now has/is heir to. Either reveal gone wrong when trying to explain because how do they hide this or no reveal at all, just Jazz grabbing her even-littler-than-usual brother and booking it because there’s no time to explain if they’re to keep Danny way from Vlad. Couldn't go into the zone bc for as many allies as Danny has there, there's also so many enemies that could intercept them before they could reach those allies to inform that help is needed (and who knows, maybe the parent's Fenton removed access to their portal from their kiddos for some reason). Danny is still halfa obvs but he doesn’t remember any details about anything. Jazz is Home. Creepy vampire man Bad. Furries in black with masks Do Good (and Jazzy tells him to trust them so he will). Clowns Very Bad.

In Gotham, Jazz doesn't try the keeping low thing. Well she does; not using anything besides cash and fake names, ancients what she wouldn’t do for a shower but places want credit cards goddamnit, to not bring attention on them from Vlad. Maybe she’s got a burner to get updates from Sam and Tucker on, about the status of Amity or if they’ve gotten anywhere on their end of the search for a solution, but they all know Vlad is watching them so they don’t know where she and Danny are or what she’s doing. Which is that she goes out at night looking for the bats and birds on purpose to get help for her brother, making waves in the rumour mill but staying hidden during the day. It takes a while; longer than they have time for really and she gets more stupidly desperate. Danny’s with her for every stupid stunt, usually hidden for safety but never so far that she can’t get to him if in seconds if it turns out they’ve gotten tracked down. She won’t run the risk of leaving him in their safe house of the day without her to come back and find him gone.

She decided on Bats rather than Supers or others bc an overshadowed superhero??? Bad. The bats and birds are either Entities not unlike she and Danny are (liminal!jazz agenda my beloved (honestly most of amity park but that’s not quite relevant here)) and thus immune, or they're very trained regular people. Those can still pack a punch but it's not something she can't fight against if they can’t actually be trusted. Not something she hasn't already fought against in the months she’s been in Team Phantom. Not something she hasn’t already fought against while making her escape with Danny.

Leaving Danny with them is going to take every ounce of trust she can muster.

She finds Red Robin or Nightwing first I think and gives the most bare bones of an explanation. Doesn't mention deaged, simply at-risk heir to The Throne Of Infinity and there's a bid for the crown right now by a man that’ll be another tyrant, and "by the ancients, you need to protect him. I'm the best he's got right now but I can't keep him safe and find our allies". That they aren’t metas but there’s too much to explain. "Maybe Danny will explain if he can but just. It'd be so much simpler if we had super powers. Wouldn't have to worry about enemies overshadowing anyone to get them to shoot us if we were all just metas."

She’s got a bag of Tech, just whatever she and Danny could grab and Go. And a third of it lost when Jazz dropped half of hers in order to pick up Danny to run faster. Think nearly finished schematics, a blaster or two, one Specter Deflector, what may or may not just be a toaster, and crammed into his bug-bag. Or school backpack. A corner of the bag is green with dried ectoplasm from a broken vial that got shattered in the mad dash.

(I’m a little attached to it being Tim she leaves Danny with. Maybe he tries to pawn him off on one of his brothers, but Danny's already like, imprinted on him. Very "YOU promised Jazz to keep me safe. Jazz left me with YOU >:C" y’know? Or cuz she stressed so very much that he cannot be left without someone guarding him, and bats don't exactly want identity reveal he can't really be left in the cave under the watch of Agent A since Alfred needs to do other things, he gets handed around a little bit between them as heroes only and it's just Timmy's bad luck that he really likes this clever snarky little bean 's the one stuck with Danny on the occasion that plot happens. I just like Tim & Danny time.)

I'm thinking plot tool of Jazz with one of Wulf's claws? As a thing that lets her get into the Zone without portal access or the speeder after finding a Bat to leave Danny with. But no control of where she'll show up, hence not using it when their parents portal wouldn’t work. It Works Like That™ because I Say So™, tho if you have a less mystery McGuffin reliant idea this is by no means obligatory. Just an excuse on a silver platter.

Also tiny Danny, barely awake, trying to grab Jazz and saying not to go cuz it's dangerous/he needs her, only for his hand to go intangible through her. Did I mention yet that he doesn’t have control of his powers?

And of course, Vlad tracks Danny down.

And he’s big bad.

#Danny Phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #ghost king danny #batman dc #well. ghost prince. but that's semantics #dpxdc

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 8 months

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𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 ║ Chapter 11 - And When Her Halo Broke, She Carved the Two Halves into Horns

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 6.7k | CHAPTER WARNINGS: sensitive material warning (marked with banner)

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: You and Joel are more alike than either of you might even know, but you know enough to be sure it’s not a connection you’re willing to give up on easily. Joel makes a concerted effort to make amends, and you have to decide if you’ll let him.

║ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ║⋄── •✧• ──⋄║ ＮＥＸＴ ║

✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧ "𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚊𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚢𝚊𝚠𝚙 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍." ─ Wᴀʟᴛ Wʜɪᴛᴍᴀɴ ✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧

Joel wasn’t sure how to make amends. The two of you were lost in this strange liminal space where you were gracious enough to let him help you in the few ways that he could. He’d apologized, sure, but it wasn’t outside of whatever whirlwind you were in the midst of. His sorries didn’t feel like they counted, and he knew it was because they didn’t. Not yet. He needed to think of something to say, some way to express how much of an idiot he was. Something for you to continue letting him take care of you in some small way.

He stilled for a moment when your face scrunched and crumpled. A small whine left your lips. He pulled you in closer to him. He breathed in your scent and told himself it was just to comfort you and not just an excuse for his self-satisfaction to indulge in you being so close. He’d rarely had moments where he could be so still with you. Where he could take you in, take care of you, hold you. Your expression smoothed out as you settled into a peaceful slumber again.

If he messed this up, there would be no other chances. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to earn another one from you after he’d acted so awful. Maybe no other choice when you were drowning and needed a hand to keep you above the waves. The moment you weren’t gasping for a breath of reprieve from the things haunting you, that was it. He wouldn’t have an excuse to hold you. He wouldn’t have a reason to seek you out and whisper sweet things to you. You wouldn’t need him. You hadn’t ever needed him. A small part of you might want him, but you didn’t need him. He tried to shake the truth that more often than not he was feeling that he needed you.

If he ruined this with you… he could already feel his chest caving in at the thought. He didn’t know why he self-sabotaged things that he wanted so badly. Some form of survival and preservation of himself: you can’t lose what you don’t have.

And outside of himself there was Ellie to think about. She’d grown attached to you because of course she had. How could she not? You had done nothing except be kind and helpful – and overbearing – ever since they’d arrived. You and Ellie chatting mindlessly was something he could listen to until the sun burned out. The way you drew easy conversation from someone as wounded and scared as Ellie, despite the tough front she put up, was enough to make you special. But of course, there was so much more to you. There always was, he was coming to learn. He’d time and again never given you the credit you deserved.

You were easy to talk to whenever you weren’t at each other’s throats. The more Joel had sat with it, the more he realized that what drove him up the wall with you was how similar the two of you were. You handled things in different ways, yes, but at your core there was that bit of ego and overprotective nature, the kind that riddled you with regret and grief when you failed. Especially when you failed someone you loved. He’d done a shit job for decades at dealing with his own grief.

Ellie had helped in ways he would never stop being grateful for. A tinge of embarrassment clouded Joel’s cheeks when he thought just for a moment if it would be possible that he could be that for you, be the person who cuts through it all and gives you a place to rest your sorrow until you’re strength comes back and you’re ready to pick it up and carry it again.

Joel didn’t know how to do that, though. He was quick to anger, something he was afraid would never change, and he was awful at communicating anything beyond impersonal snippets. He needed to show you, somehow, that he meant it. He meant it when he said he cared for you. He meant it when he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. He meant it when he said he’s got you.

Joel tilts his head down to watch you as you sleep. You’re curled into him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as if you can’t get close enough. Your brow furrows at the same time your fists clench tighter around the fabric. You mutter something in your sleep. It sounds pointed even through the slur of unconsciousness.

He presses small kisses against your forehead, and it soothes you back into a restful state. You’ve been asleep for hours. Joel feels fairly certain you’d sleep for many more if he let you. He extricates himself from your hold and walks stiffly to the kitchen. Remaining unmoved for so many consecutive hours had done a number on his joints.

He checks the clock on your stove to confirm what he already suspected. You’ve been asleep for quite a while - just under six hours. The bag of tea he’d hastily grabbed at the shop lay lopsided on the counter where he’d lobbed it earlier. He can’t remember what Will had said was in it or how he was supposed to prepare it. At the time he was distracted with thoughts of finding you and making sure you weren’t thinking of doing something stupid.

A light knock on the door pulled him from his musings. He hurried up the hallway and opened the front door.

“Joel? What the fuck are you doing here?” Ellie laughs under her breath.

Joel shushes her and pulls her inside. He closed the door and jerked his head towards the sealed double doors leading to where you’re still fast asleep, or so he hopes.

“She’s sleepin’, so keep it down, will ya?” he huffs under his breath.

Ellie’s curious expression morphs into a smug, giddy grin. The sides of her cheeks are pulled in between her back teeth as she does a poor job of hiding her gloating smile. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he mutters as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

Ellie follows in step, her expression never wavering. “So, you finally fixing whatever weird shit you did to fuck up the friendship you had going?” Her exaggerated tone on the word “friendship” was impossible to miss.

“I’m tryna make sure she’s alright,” he defends himself stiffly.

Ellie smirks and sways on the spot, her energy palpable at Joel’s obvious self-consciousness.

“Hm, that’s real nice of you, Joel. Didn’t know you were such a softie,” she needles.

Joel levels an exasperated scowl in her direction as he tries to put together what he needs to make you some tea. He grumbles under his breath, expressing his distaste of Ellie’s teasing.

“So, is she alright?” Her tone wavers into something more serious for a moment before she shifts into the safer territory of sarcasm. “Doing better now that you’re here?” She waggles her eyebrows theatrically at him.

Joel ignores the attempts to deflect the extent of her concern with detached humor. It’s something he’s all too familiar with and has been trying to do better about.

“She’ll be alright. We just gotta keep tryna help her where we can,” he says thoughtfully. Ellie nods and averts her gaze. “I think m’gonna stay here with her for a little longer if that’s alright with you?”

Ellie shrugs as though she expected no different. “Yeah, of course. I can keep myself out of trouble for a few hours.” She traipses through the kitchen, heading towards the front door. “At least I think I can. No promises, though,” she adds with a childish giggle.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mutters with a smile tugging at his lips.

He starts the water in the kettle you already have on the stove and walks Ellie out. She gives a short wave and glances at the window where your bed lies beyond the panes. She turns without another word and heads home.

The kettle is slowly coming to a boil in the kitchen while Joel readies a cup and a strainer to separate the tea leaves from the mug. He searches your cabinets, which turn up pitifully empty. He considers for a moment if you might need some things picked up or if you’d let him do that for you. Maybe he could just put Ellie up to it so you wouldn’t argue.

He removes the kettle from the burner and turns it off before the steam can start whistling and wake you. He sets the kettle to the side for a moment while checking if your fridge is in the same state as your cabinets. He doesn’t get very far into his inspection when he hears you stirring from your sleep. He closes the fridge to make it easier to hear, leaning his head the direction of your door.

You sound restless, maybe. Upset? Something not quite as it should be, he can tell that much. He walks towards the hallway leading to your room and hears the unmistakable sound of crying. He pushes the door open and can’t tell if you’re awake or not. By the time he nears the edge of the bed, it’s clear that you’re in the midst of some sort of nightmare.

You’re muttering “don’t look” over and over in the garbled, thick voice of sleep. Joel isn’t sure if you’re talking to yourself or to someone in your dream. Either way, you’re visibly distressed at the turn of events happening in your mind. Joel hears it then. Your sister’s name tumbles with frantic pain from your lips.

Caroline. You’re telling Caroline not to look.

Joel senses he’s failed to deliver on his promise of making sure you slept peacefully, that he’d stay with you and keep you safe - even from your own mind if that’s what you needed. He decides to wake you before he lets you down any further than he already has.

The outline of a middle aged woman and a young girl ebb between silhouette and fleeting focus of features. It was the mother and daughter you and Caroline traveled with for a few months.The dense thicket of trees forms around the four of you. A fire cracks and pops, water making the stones hiss on contact. The conversation slows and turns to getting rest for the long day ahead of you in the morning.

The scene shifts like smoke rising from the extinguished campfire the four of you had sat around hours earlier. Your knife glimmers in a stray line of moonlight as it presses against the young girl’s throat. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I will do this if I have to,” you growl at the mother, shifting your knife slightly.

The girl is crying in your captive hold, shaking and begging you to please not hurt her or her mom. She’s a young teen, but her voice shakes with the fear of a much smaller, helpless child.

��They told me they’d let us go. I’m sorry. They told me all the routes we’ve been taking. They were watching us the past two days. I’m sorry,” the woman sobs.

“Let who go?” you demand.

“Me and Cassie,” she cries, eyes glancing back to your knife at the mention of her daughter’s name.

“If you gave us over to them?” you bark. She nods frantically, begging for you to understand she didn’t have any other choice. She couldn’t surrender her daughter to the horrors that awaited her at the hand of the slavers. She had to make this deal to save her daughter.

It was fucked up, but you understood why she would ultimately choose her daughter. It still wasn’t an excuse for why she’d willingly deliver you and Caroline to the same fate she couldn’t bear to let her daughter endure.

And, worst of all, she didn’t realize that she had been fooled twice over. Fooled into betraying you and Caroline, agreeing to lead you both into the slavers’ trap just a few hours from now. Fooled again for ever thinking they would actually let her and Cassie go after their end of the deal was done. Cassie was far too young and untouched to just let them go without a hitch.

Her desperation to protect her daughter had clouded her judgment. It was a nauseating but brilliant move on the slavers’ part to have her help incapacitate the strongest fighters in the group, which would make easy work of capturing the mother and daughter immediately after you and Caroline were confined. She had sentenced every last one of you to a life of horrors that would make you wish a clicker would just come and put you out of your misery.

You had caught wind of the plan, listening as Cassie absorbed all the hushed, hurried whispers her mother gave once she thought you and Caroline had fallen asleep. But you had stayed up, unable to shake the feeling that there was an unsettling change in the mother. Little motions of extra security, arms around Cassie more than usual, small glances at the edge of the trees as though she was expecting to see someone there waiting in the shadows.

Everyone had their bad days where the stress wore you down a little too much, your nerves frayed and exposed, putting you even more on edge than usual. But this was different. Something wasn’t right. The dread and anguish churned your insides as you eavesdropped. You could hear Cassie’s faltering agreements to stick close to her mother’s side the next morning and to keep her jackknife ready if it needed to be used. Cassie typically kept a small walking stick with her at all times, not often engaging in combat. The three of you instinctively protected her, and she was more helpful during a fight if she could just scramble to safety somewhere until it was over. The dark cloud twists the scene until it morphs into a clearer rendering, a close up of your knife edging into Cassie’s skin.

“We are going our separate ways. Right now,” you growl. “I’m not going to wait around until morning just so you can figure out another way to send us all to our own personal hell.”

You shove Cassie to the ground towards her mother as you dash to Caroline. She looks at you, the question in her eyes you don’t want to answer. A flash of sadness when she understands the conclusion of your silent conversation. A small nod to let you know she’s ready.

You turn to the other pair. Cassie is fumbling with her backpack, shoving as much of her things into it as quickly as she can.

“And one more thing before we go,” you snarl, approaching the mother slowly. Cassie continues frantically packing. “If you had just told us the truth, I could’ve done something to get us out of it. I could’ve figured something out. And, I wouldn’t have to do this right now.”

The mother realizes the meaning in your words mere seconds before your knife is lodged in her windpipe. A hollow scream gurgles from her as you twist the knife and rip it from her bleeding, torn flesh. She grasps helplessly at your feet, trying to stop the inevitable, but you’re already making your way over to her daughter.

Cassie’s head jerks up at the commotion, her face contorting into a silent scream. She stumbles and trips over nothing, her horror propelling her away from the scene of her brutalized mother. You hear Caroline crying somewhere behind you, ransacking the pair’s supplies to take for your own, holding up her part of the silent agreement. You force down the tears welling in your eyes as you reach for your small hatchet.

Cassie had scrambled off the ground, stumbling into a sprint.

“Don’t look, Caroline,” you order in a choke.

You know you don’t have to tell her not to watch. You know she’s already forcing her line of sight away from the evolving bloodbath in front of her. You wish you could do the same. You rear back, launching the hatchet across the opening with precise aim. A dull slogging sound hits the air as the bit of your hatchet lays claim to the flesh between Cassie’s shoulder blades. She slumps instantly to the ground, coughing and writhing, still trying to escape your advancing footsteps.

“Don’t look, Caroline,” you warn again, hot tears escaping.

You bend down and jerk the hatchet from Cassie’s back, refusing to let your mind register the resigned, helpless wail of pain coming from her when you reclaim your weapon from her bungled flesh.

“Don’t look, Caroline,” you cry again, grasping each end of the wooden handle and tucking it under Cassie’s neck.

Caroline’s shaky, sharp inhales and ragged exhales are the background soundtrack to this atrocity. You repeat your warnings to Caroline to please not watch - please not be a witness to what you are having to do in order to save the both of you. Please understand there wasn’t another way to let them go and spare their lives while also keeping your own safe. Cassie hadn’t done anything wrong, but letting her escape and try to survive on her own would just be more cruel than killing her right now.

Your tears fall onto your knee, squarely placed in the wound you just inflicted, as you keep the young girl grounded beneath your weight and pull the handle towards you. Her nails are scratching into your arms as she struggles, stripes of blood starting to pool where she has made enough contact. The clawing finally subsides as Cassie’s body slowly goes limp underneath you.

“Please don’t look, Caroline.”

“Hey.”

“Don’t look. Don’t look.”

“Hey. Wake up, honey.”

“I didn’t want to. I had to. I’m sorry. Don’t look.”

You are awoken to the stern call of your name. Your eyes snap open, adjusting to the low yellow light of the room you’re in. Joel’s face unblurs in front of you. His hands are on either side of your arms, a firm but gentle hold. Your face feels wet and sticky. Joel says your name again softly.

“Hey, right here. I need you to look right here,” he commands softly.

Your adrenaline is shot, a wave of something trying to shut down.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you comply. The corners of his mouth are firmly downturned. His brow scrunched. His eyes almost look sad. “I don’t know where you jus’ were, but you’re here with me now,” he explains slowly.

Your senses begin aligning with the room around you. A slight chill in the air hits your damp face, but some blankets tangled in your legs provide a little warmth.

Joel’s hands provide warmth.

“Woulda been here sooner, but I was in the kitchen fixin’ somethin’ up. Been asleep a while.” You blink slowly. You hear the stove creaking as it heats up. Or maybe it’s cooling down. It’s dark outside your window. What time was it? How long had you been sleeping? How long had Joel stayed in bed with you?

You’re struck by how empty it feels without him in it, next to you and holding you. You sit up and shakily crawl towards him. You grab him closer to you with your arms around his neck.

“Gonna be okay. I promise,” he murmurs into your ear. You stare blankly ahead at the wall behind Joel’s head. You give an empty nod and pull back. Your hollow stare meets his uncertain expression.

“You should get up. Your knees are going to be killing you,” you rasp weakly.

You scoot yourself up into a sitting position. Joel grunts as he shifts off his knees and onto the bed next to you. Your hands are folded in your lap, your unfixed stare straight ahead never wavering. Joel leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his thighs and lacing his fingers together. You sit in silence for a few moments, the stove creaking occasionally.

“Punched this jackass in a makeshift bar one time,” Joel starts, clearing his throat. The statement is unexpected to say the least. You aren’t sure why Joel is sharing a bar fight story, but you don’t have it in you to linger on it.

“Firefly joint. Not the best place to spend your night, but it helped decent jobs crop up a whole lot more if you talked it up with the right people.”

You watch Joel’s profile as he speaks. There’s something soft there, open. Like he’s not hiding himself away or keeping a guard up. His usually closed off face is now a flow of expression, a roadmap of the thoughts and memories flooding his mind. It draws you in just seeing him like this.

“Anyway, this real booksmart, street stupid type guy that couldn’t hold his liquor for shit wouldn’t stop talkin’ to me about the ‘science of loss,’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed’ta mean. Just wanted to hear himself talk ‘n sound smart about his take on the end of the world and humanity and all that bullshit.” Joel exhales a sharp laugh through his nose at the memory.

“Started gettin’ all emotional talkin’ about his Firefly buddy that caught a clicker to the head. Wouldn’t shut up about how hard it is to lose somebody. Only let him go on as much as I did ‘cause he had it in good with a guy I wanted to trade with. Anyway, he got tired of me not havin’ a public waterworks with him. Started sayin’ I didn’t have a heart or some shit. Got up to leave the lecture when he pushed me. Knocked his ass out cold right then and there.” As amusing as it was to hear Joel give you a play-by-play highlight reel of his best “I beat somebody up in a bar once” hits, you’re lost on what you’re supposed to do with this information. You sit silently, waiting for him to speak again. Joel glances at you, sensing he isn’t doing a great job at explaining why this should matter to you. He shifts his body fully in your direction and clears his throat again. “Point is,” he continues. “The walk home had me thinkin’ about some of the stuff he said. Most of it complete bullshit, obviously, but he did say somethin’ that stuck with me and I didn’t figure out why for a long time.” He pauses, checking to see if he still has your attention. You nod your head up once as if to signal tell me what it was. “He kept sayin’ this one thing. ‘Grief isn’t linear.’ Musta said it a dozen times at least. Sounded so odd at the time. I think that’s what made it stick, initially.”

Joel rubs his hands together, either in thought or out of nervous habit at sharing private thoughts and memories. His eyes shift back to you.

“Sounded stupid, though. Well, did to me at first, at least. But at some point it made sense. Fit in with my life. Things I’ve been through–” he sucks in a deep breath, unsettled at what he’s about to say, perhaps “– people I’ve lost….”

His gaze drops from yours for a moment. You can tell this is difficult to talk about, even if he hasn’t said anything particularly revealing. Still, for him it was sharing more than was in his comfort zone.

“And, I know with.. Caroline,” he says with a hesitance, unsure if it might set you off, “How hard that must’ve been. Hell, I about lost my mind when I first came out this way lookin’ for Tommy. Got to a certain point I was scared he was gone forever. Had to fuckin’ lean against somethin’ just to catch my breath, I got so fuckin’ afraid of losin’ somebody else.”

You nod thoughtfully. It was comforting that Joel could understand how devastating it might be to lose your younger sibling, somebody you’re supposed to take care of and protect. Joel was lucky, though. He hadn’t lost Tommy.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, shoving your drying tears off your cheeks.

“You hafta,” Joel says, suddenly stern. Your eyes shoot back up to meet his. His palm settles against your thigh, hot and grounding. “If you don’t, it’s gonna eat you up alive."

For a fleeting second, you don’t think just giving up would be so bad. It would be easier, at least. As if he could read your thoughts, Joel interrupts your defeatist musings.

“And it ain’t easier to just bury it. Take it from a dumbass who knows,” he huffs with a humorless laugh. “You can let it make you as numb as it possibly can, and you can still feel every fuckin’ thing.”

You let the words sink into your brain.

Looking back, you really believed that you’d settled this heartbreak. You thought you’d walked that difficult tightrope of grief and made it to the other side, miraculously unscathed. But you weren’t being honest with yourself. The box of Caroline’s belongings, the few you’d taken from her dead body, sat sealed up in a closet upstairs. You’d crowded yourself into the smallest area possible in your home, protecting yourself from the haunting artifact of your greatest failure. Shoving the memory of your sister into a dark alcove, someplace you’d never have to even cross because you avoided those areas of your own house. Like a coward.

“It’s never gonna go away, is it?” you choke out in a hush. “M’not gonna lie to you, sweetheart, and tell you it vanishes one day. Doesn’t ever go away, but it can sure as hell get better.”

You hold back tears for the thousandth time today.

“What if you’re scared to go back?” you ask quietly, staring straight ahead again.

Joel pauses for a moment before leaning closer to you, his weight sinking his hand into the mattress underneath you.

“Can’t speak for everybody, but . . in my case . . having somebody to hold your hand along the way helps.”

His fingers twitch beside your leg, but he doesn’t move his hand. You slowly unfold your hands from your lap and slide one on top of Joel’s. You awkwardly grab at his fingers, holding his pinky and ring finger with all of yours. His thumb brushes against your palm.

Part of you wants to wrap yourself in his arms and let him shroud you in comfort. The other half of you wants to scream and run away.

“Ellie’s probably wondering where you are,” you point out.

“She knows where I am,” he answers calmly.

“You don’t need to get back home?” you ask, partly an actual question but mostly a plea from your escapee side for him to leave.

“Not right this minute, no,” he replies flatly, not acknowledging your silent request to be left to your own devices. “We’re gonna sit here for a little while, okay?” he says. His thumb is circling grounding energy into you. You give a weak nod and whisper, “Okay.”

He lays back down, straightening the blankets as he pulls you next to him underneath them. You circle your arm under his and cup your hand over his shoulder, pulling him closer. You hook a leg over his hip and tuck your head under his chin. Joel’s arms wrap you into him, and the small kneading motion on your back from before resumes.

You don’t care right now that you’re mad at him. You don’t care how angry and hurt he made you. You don’t care that there’s a million things you need to get off your chest and scream at him.

RIght now, you need him. You need this side of him. Not the harsh, spiteful Joel. The Joel that sweeps you up when you’re freefalling. The Joel that shelters you from your own mind when it gets the better of you. The Joel that stays with you every step of your harrowing trek. The Joel that makes you want to hold him close to you like this until the world stops spinning and the sun goes out.

He lets you sit in silence for what seems like hours, giving you the sanctuary and permission to navigate your wounds without interruption. The reemerging darkness didn’t feel like it was clawing its way forward anymore, and you knew it wouldn’t drag you under if Joel’s hand was in yours, ready to pull you up if you needed him to.

It had been several days since Joel had held you against him, safe and warm in your bed. The sleep had afforded you the ability to explain to Joel that you hadn’t formulated any plans to hurt yourself, how the herb mixture needed to be consumed with care but wasn’t anything that would seriously harm you, and how you were mostly just exhausted more than anything else. You skipped the detail where you felt a crippling sense of loneliness, but he’d probably already picked up on that anyway. Joel had a funny way of seeming to know just what you were thinking these days, what your reactions and reflections were. Like he had a cheat sheet of all your moves.

Your schedule had gotten off course with all the recent turmoil and missed days, and you were home before Ellie got out of school only to pick back up in the afternoon to catch up with odds and ends. Joel had taken to walking Ellie over to your house when she got out of school if he wasn’t on patrol or working at the site.

He didn’t attempt to invite himself in, and you felt unsure about asking him to join you for the short tea break. You didn’t know how to act around him, let alone with Ellie in the midst of it all. You wanted to keep a clear head where she was concerned. You’d done enough to unsettle her. She didn’t need any more of that nonsense.

When you heard a knock at the door, you didn’t think anything of it. You had two cups already out and ready to be filled for you and Ellie. When the door swung open to reveal Joel by himself, you were surprised.

“Is everything okay? Is Ellie okay? Where is she?” you ask, the octave of your voice climbing with each new question.

Joel smiled softly and held a hand up to put a stop to your fretting. “Relax. S’just me today. Wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright.”

Your shoulders relax when you hear that Ellie is okay. You nod and motion for Joel to come inside. His looming shape feels like an eclipse of comfort when he follows you closely on the way back to the kitchen. Your spine just about melts when his hand brushes against the small of your back as he crosses behind you at the counter.

“Made you a cup of tea, I guess,” you laugh gently. You slide the cup towards him, and you don’t miss the way his nose scrunches in distaste. “Or not,” you snort, lifting a brow in amusement.

“Nah, s’alright. I’ll have it. No need to waste it,” he mutters. He continues to give the cup a dubious look.

“You’re such a snob. And over hot bean water, no less,” you scoff with no real venom in your words.

“Guess I am,” he muses with a wry smile.

You clear your throat and take a sip of your tea. You jerk your head towards the table, and Joel follows you to sit. Your eyes open wider when he settles into the chair next to yours instead of across from you.

You take another sip of your tea and look at Joel’s mug expectantly. He shoots you a weary frown but raises it to his lips.

“Can’t believe people like this shit,” he grumbles with a scrunched mouth and brow.

You laugh under your breath and roll your eyes. “You’re impossible,” you mutter.

“Funny you should say that. Sorta what I came to talk to you about,” he admits.

“Joel, you already apologized,” you start. You wave a dismissive hand at him. “And you’ve done plenty to make up for it, okay? Let’s just drop it.”

“That’s not gonna work for me,” he argues. His hand curves around yours where it hugs your mug. Your lips part at the simple but charged contact.

“I fucked up. I said some shit I had no business sayin’.”

You shake your head in quick jerks. “Joel, just drop it. We both know that even if you were an asshole about it, you weren’t exactly saying anything that wasn’t true. It’s not even–”

“Don’t matter what’s the truth if you’re just sayin’ somethin’ to hurt somebody,” he interrupts. “And I was. I was tryna hurt you. And when I did what I meant to do, it didn’t make me feel any better. Made me feel like shit that I treated you like that. Ellie woulda had me strung up if she knew half the shit I said to you.” He takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair.

“I let you down. Messed up a trust I hadn’t even fully earned yet. A trust I don’t deserve. I let Ellie down, too. She likes you. Looks up to you, I think.” He sniffs a laugh. “Don’t tell her I told ya that, though.”

You chew at your lip watching him speak with you in such a raw way. There’s none of that gruff, volatile Joel here in front of you.

“I kept rackin’ my brain, tryna think of how I could make you understand how sorry I am,” he says, turning his head to look at you.

Had he always had such big, brown eyes? Were they always so wide open and warm? You feel yourself instinctively leaning towards him as he speaks.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I mean that. I meant it when I said it before, too. But I’m also tryna come up with my own ways to show you I mean it, that I ... care about you,” he finishes quietly.

You slowly nod, taking in all this raw expression from him.

“And, uh, I do have somethin’ I was thinkin’ about. I’m sure you know about the trip some of the patrol groups are makin’ out to Teton in the next coupla days.”

You nod. You’re aware of the scouting trip a small patrol group was preparing to go on. Heading to Teton to further assess supply chains and resources. Tommy was heading it up.

“Tommy usually goes on those types of things, but he’d just be a distracted ball of nerves bein’ away from Maria right now. It’s a few days, but it’s still far enough that he’d be a mess. No sense in sendin’ him if he’s gonna be like that. I need to do somethin’ to get Maria to warm up to me a bit more, anyway,” he chuckles darkly.

You shoot him a wry smile. “Sister-in-law still not a fan of you, huh?”

He rubs one of his eyes wearily and shrugs. “Somethin’ like that.”

“So, what? I’m stop number two on your kiss and makeup tour today then?” you deadpan.

Joel’s eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes so quickly you almost missed it. “Mmm, not exactly.”

“I mean… what would I even be doing? Doesn’t sound like much of a favor to be honest,” you point out.

“She’s stayin’ with Tommy, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better knowin’ you were checkin’ in on her, too.”

Joel’s gaze was fixed on you, looking for any sort of change in your expression. His mug of tea sat forgotten as he turned to face you and rest his arm on the back of your chair and his other hand on your thigh.

“You sure you aren’t worried about me being alone with Ellie? Not scared I’m going to have some breakdown again or something?” you huff in a humorless laugh. You drop your gaze. You felt ashamed for putting Ellie through all your personal bullshit. “Can’t imagine seeing how I’ve been lately would make you believe I’m the person to trust with her.”

“Hey,” he says softly, cupping a hand against your cheek and turning your face to look at him. “You’re good for Ellie. You’re good for–good for both of us.”

“You mean that?” you whisper.

Joel nods. “I do. I really do.”

Your hands leave your mug in a flash and cradle Joel’s face as you crash your lips onto his. He drags you effortlessly from the seat of your chair, and you clamber onto his lap. His mouth and hands are everywhere on you. He groans into your mouth when your hands start to travel across his body. Now that his lips and tongue meld together with your own, you aren’t quite sure why you haven’t already done this. This was so much easier than trying to find the right words to say or figure out the right way to express things.

“Fuck, why’d it take us so long to do this?” he pants against your mouth.

You laugh softly in agreement and drag his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Don’t know. Maybe we’re both just a pair of idiots,” you laugh.

“I know you sure as hell make my brain go fuckin’ stupid the second you’re around me,” he scoffs without any real indignation behind the words.

You pull back to look at him. His eyes soften when they find yours.

“I mean it,” he urges quietly. “I’ve been so stupid. Said stupid shit. Done stupid shit. None of it what you deserved.”

You silently nod in agreement. You hadn’t deserved any of the cruelty Joel had subjected you to. You hadn’t been feeling very hopeful that it was something he would ever recognize or acknowledge. The fact that he was now doing both make your heart do something very dangerous: hope.

“Can we stop buttin’ heads? And can you let me show you how I wish I’d acted in the first place?” he pleads with a tender conviction.

“Only if you act, like, really pathetically sorry. Over the top remorse or I’m out,” you deadpan.

“Won’t hafta put on much of an act,” he mumbles. “Been a complete asshole.”

You hold his face between your hands again and offer a soft smile. “Let’s just call it a truce, alright? I’ll try to keep my assessments to a minimum, and you…”

“Can stop bein’ such a combative killjoy?” he suggests with a sheepish grin.

“Deal,” you breathe out a laugh.

You finish your tea in comfortable silence as you watch Joel eye his mug with distaste. Your heart flutters when he takes the used mugs to the sink and rinses them out for you. The simple act of domesticity, in your own home, felt right. The butterflies swarm in your stomach when he takes your hand in his while you walk him to your door.

You pause before reaching for the handle. He pulls you into his middle, wrapping his arms around you. Relief washes over you.

“Take care of Ellie while I’m gone. And take care of yourself, too.”

You nodded against his chest. “I will.”

“Because when I get back, I’m checkin’ on the both of you.”

“Okay,” you smile.

Joel ghosted a smattering of kisses across your forehead. His beard scratches and tickles the skin there. You nervously giggle and press your face into him. His palm covered a large expanse of your back where he rubbed calming circles, only stopping to run his fingers through the patch of strands that had come loose from your braid.

“I’ll be back in a few days.” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Be good for me, yeah?”

“Okay,” you reply. You try to ignore the building heat between your legs at his words.

“Need some more of this before I go, though,” he says as he dips down to bring his lips against yours.

He kisses you slower this time, more exacting in his discovery of this part of you he now has access to. When you both draw back to catch your breath, the image of your face lit up with giddy titillation is the memento he tucks away in his mind to conjure and treasure whenever he must be apart from you.

Thank you all for being so patient for this update! I had to rework several chapters after I decided to make a change to a certain part of the story, but we are back on track now.

Some random thoughts about this chapter: • This chapter sheds some light on why Joel's "lumberjack assassin" line a few chapters back didn't get a great reception. • It also gives us a little insight as to how the pair of them are more similar than they yet understand. They both did terrible things to survive, and in the name of protecting their younger sibling. Two sides of the same coin.

catch ya later, Puddles

#fic: endless night #enni #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #joel miller hbo

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liminal-x-wave · 5 months

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ᴄ ᴇ ʀ ᴜ ʟ ᴇ ᴀ ɴ 青

#aesthetic #liminal spaces #dreamcore #vaporwave #liminalcore #vaporwave art #liminal aesthetic #liminal reality #poolcore #poolrooms #vaporwave aesthetic #liminal x wave #liminal space aesthetic #80s aesthetic #retrocore #synthwave

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wallpapedits-vvc · 5 months

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Matching wallpapers #202

Like/reblog if you save ✨

2nd: by @liminal-x-wave. None of this wallpapers/pictures belongs to me, I just do the matching.

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cinematv · 2 years

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EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE | dir. Daniel Kwan & Daniel Scheinert

I am learning that we are allowed to be nuanced with a jackhammer. We can discover new liminal feelings no one has ever named before and scream those names from the top of mountains. If we've discovered something beautiful & nuanced... why should we hide it in subtly? I'll end by showing you this painting by Ikeda Manabu. It became a guiding light two years into the writing process when I was feeling overwhelmed by the script, feeling worthless and stupid for trying to tackle something so big. Manabu's paintings are pure maximalism, but when you pull back there is still always a core. In this case, it's a wave. Just a big wave, holding as much as it can. For our script, that core was a family. It's just a family, holding as much as it can. And wow look at all it holds. (x)

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yopapiishere · 8 months

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04. Solace

Just Breathe Modern Warfare II x Reader

(A/n): Took me way too long to finish this, I also already finished chapter five so something to post so I can work on chapter six right away.

Trigger warnings: Medical happenings, swearing, sad Reader, OOC characters

Word count: 3,937

(Y/n) POV

Glancing towards the clock, the harsh digits of 5:57 AM pierced through the dimness. A soft, weary sigh escaped my lips as I wrestled with the remnants of a nightmare that had clung to me like a haunting specter. The images had etched a grim portrayal of my own reality, leaving no room for peaceful slumber.

Tears had been my reluctant companions as I finally succumbed to sleep, yet their solace was fleeting. Hours had passed, marked by the weight of dreams that wrapped around me like tendrils, each one a painful reminder of those I had left behind in my abrupt departure from life. The faces of my family, frozen in moments forever lost, haunted the corners of my mind.

The hour was caught in the liminal space between the dark of night and the dawn of day, a time of transition when the world seemed to hold its breath. In the realm of military life, early mornings were often embraced as a routine, a symbol of discipline and dedication. As I lay there, restless and unsure, I contemplated the enigmatic cadence of a soldier's life, one that had eluded me in my former existence.

Shifting in the bed's embrace, I pulled the light blankets closer around me, seeking both physical warmth and a shield against the emotional chill that had settled in. The fabric whispered a delicate reassurance, though its comfort couldn't bridge the chasm between my past and this unfamiliar present. And so, in the gray haze of predawn, I lingered, suspended between the remnants of sleep and the reality I was now forced to navigate.

Time stretched out in a languid dance as I lay there, a mere five minutes feeling like an eternity in the hushed barracks. A sigh escaped my lips, and I found myself pinching the bridge of my nose, a gesture of frustration and weariness.

"Fuck," I whispered, the word heavy with annoyance, a sentiment that cut through the quiet morning. With a glance at the clock, I noted that it was just past six, a consolation in the midst of my restless wait.

With a resigned exhale, I slid out of bed, my movements deliberate and silent as I swapped my current state for the uniformity of the plain clothes laid out for me. The black tank top embraced my skin, hidden beneath the equally black crew neck. The plain light blue jeans offered a stark contrast to the military surroundings, a small reminder of individuality in a sea of conformity.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me, a longing for the familiarity of my own closet, where clothes weren't just fabric but statements of identity. Each piece, carefully chosen, was a snapshot of who I was, a way to communicate without words. I shook my head, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips, as I recognized the insignificance of such concerns in the face of the life I now led.

The door swung open on silent hinges, and I stepped into the corridor, treading with a practiced quietness. My path led me to the personal bathroom, a solitary space where I could steal a moment of privacy, besides my own ‘bedroom’. The mirror revealed a tired reflection, and as I mechanically brushed my teeth, the image before me seemed to blur with memories of a time when I didn't have to be constantly on edge, in an unfamiliar place.

My hand moved absently through my hair, a futile attempt to restore some semblance of order. The splashes of water on my face were refreshing, but they couldn't wash away the fatigue etched into my features.

"I look like crap," I mused, the words a whisper of self-critique. The ache of homesickness surged within me, a longing for the comforts and vanities I once took for granted. With a resolute shake of my head, I silenced the yearning, reminding myself that the past was an anchor that couldn't hold me anymore. Yet, as I prepared to face the day, traces of my former life etched themselves into my thoughts, a testament to the depth of what I had left behind.

Stepping out of the bathroom and reentering the barracks, my gaze settled on Price, his stance relaxed as he balanced a cigar between his lips while tending to a brewing cup of coffee. The aroma of the freshly brewed drink mingled with the air, a comforting scent in the otherwise sterile surroundings. At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned, and a brief smile graced his lips, a small gesture that managed to ease the weight of the morning.

"Mornin'," his greeting resonated in the quiet space, carrying a sense of camaraderie that was both familiar and new.

His offer for coffee was met with a simple nod from me, and I settled onto a seat at the island adjacent to the makeshift kitchen. As he poured the steaming liquid into a cup, a sense of ease enveloped me, a surprising comfort that countered the inner turmoil I was battling. There was a sense of refuge in his presence, a respite from the harsh realities that often threatened to overwhelm.

The simplicity of the moment was a stark contrast to the complexity of emotions I grappled with. My body seemed to yearn for solitude, to process the memories and nightmares that relentlessly haunted me. Yet, as I sat there, a cup of coffee before me and Price's presence nearby, the quiet companionship whispered of the strength in solidarity.

"How did you sleep?" Price's question broke the silence as he settled into a seat beside me, his presence a subtle reassurance amidst the barracks' stillness.

"It was...different," I replied, my voice carrying the weight of the restless night that had preceded this quiet morning. The black coffee offered both a physical and mental respite, nudging me away from the edges of the sleepless void that had consumed me.

His understanding nod conveyed a sense of shared sentiment, hinting at the possibility that he, too, found solace in the stillness.

"You'll get used to it," his words were a prediction wrapped in a simple statement. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, the idea of growing accustomed to this unfamiliar environment a thought I wasn't quite ready to embrace. My heart ached for the distant memories of my family's lively home, a place where noise was comfort and chaos was love.

"I hope," I murmured, the words carrying a weight of their own, a sentiment that held both truth and deceit, a yearning for a past that was forever out of reach.

Price's long sip seemed to mirror the quiet contemplation that hung in the air between us. His next words drew my attention, a reminder that the world beyond the barracks still pressed on.

"The nurse you met yesterday, Ayan, will want to speak to you around 7 am," he informed me, his gaze directed at me as if to ensure I understood the importance of the impending conversation. My hands instinctively cradled the coffee cup, its warmth seeping into my bandaged hands, soothing the rawness of my injured skin.

As I stared into the dark liquid, the impending conversation loomed before me, a reminder that even in this unfamiliar territory, responsibilities and realities remained. The coffee's comforting embrace seemed to shield me for a moment longer, a buffer against the challenges that awaited me beyond the boundaries of this fragile morning sanctuary.

I nodded in acknowledgment, the silence between us a welcome respite as we both focused on sipping our coffee, each passing moment a small reprieve from the weight of the day ahead.

"You'll have a busy day today," Price's words broke the quietude, drawing my attention back to him.

"Busy?" I echoed, curiosity piqued by his statement.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady as he met my questioning look. "Mostly tests," he clarified, his words revealing a glimpse of the challenges that lay ahead. With a deliberate final sip, he finished his own cup, while my eyes dropped to the coffee still cradled between my hands, its contents barely diminished.

The impending flurry of tests stirred a mix of emotions within me. The idea of facing unknown individuals and navigating the complexities of my new reality was both daunting and strangely intriguing. As I stared into the dark liquid before me, I couldn't help but wonder about the path that awaited me beyond the realm of these quiet mornings.

The cup in my hands seemed to hold not just coffee, but a brief moment of respite before the storm. As a sense of relaxation finally washed over me, allowing my guard to momentarily lower, the abrupt sound of a door slamming open shattered the tranquility. My attention snapped towards one of the rooms , where Soap's arrival was announced with a wide smile.

"Mornin'," his cheerful greeting broke the stillness, his presence injecting a burst of energy into the space. He wasted no time, deftly reaching up into the cupboard to fetch a cup of coffee, his movements fluid and purposeful.

Price exchanged greetings with him, and I followed suit with a quiet acknowledgment, the words exchanged barely more than a whisper in the early morning hush. Despite my initial reluctance to embrace company, Soap's entrance seemed to bring with it a kind of camaraderie that was both reassuring and unexpected.

As the moments passed, the three of us surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and the soft glow of dawn, I found myself gradually adjusting to the ebb and flow of this new life. The ease with which Soap had integrated into the scene, his presence a testament to the bonds that formed amidst the chaos.

"Soap, gonna need you to take care of the rookies today, hands are full," Price's words carried a sense of delegation as he looked towards Soap, his request tinged with the weight of responsibility.

Soap's sigh held a mix of reluctance and understanding as he nodded in response to Price's instruction. "Havin' trouble with this specific group, Price. No matter how many laps I make them run, they think it's fun to disobey higher ranks," Soap's frustration was evident in his words as he leaned against the counter, casting a glance in our direction.

The exchange between the two men painted a picture of the challenges inherent in their roles, a reminder that even in this environment of protection and camaraderie, discipline and order remained a constant struggle. Soap's words also offered a glimpse into the dynamics that defined this space—the delicate balance between authority and camaraderie, where respect had to be earned rather than assumed.

As I listened to their conversation, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for Soap's predicament, his efforts to instill discipline met with the playful defiance of the rookies. It was a reminder that even in the face of extraordinary circumstances, the human spirit still found ways to assert its independence and individuality.

In this unfolding tableau, I saw a microcosm of the intricate dance between hierarchy and friendship that defined their lives. And as Soap's gaze swept over us, I couldn't help but wonder how these roles would eventually intertwine with my own as I navigated the path that had been carved out for me in this complex world.

"Keep makin' them run laps. You're a soldier, so make them into one," Price's firm instruction resonated in the space, his arms crossed in a stance of authority.

Soap's agreement, though reluctant, mirrored the understanding of the task at hand. The conversation shifted, and the entryway once again came to life, this time with Gaz's arrival. The sound of earbuds being pulled from his ears punctuated the hushed air, his huff of breath a testament to the morning's exertions.

"Mornin'," his greeting was casual as he made his way toward us.

Soap's question about the morning run elicited a hint of amusement from Gaz. "Shit, did I not wake up early enough to join you for your morning run?" Soap inquired, his watch a point of reference for his concern.

Gaz's response carried an air of incredulity, his words a reminder of a familiar routine. "Yea you did, I've told you this, 5:30 every day," he clarified, his movements focused on retrieving a cup for himself.

The scene before me unfolded with an almost choreographed precision, each interaction revealing the intricate relationships and routines that had taken root within these barracks. The camaraderie mixed with a touch of discipline painted a vivid picture of a life where every action held meaning, where bonds formed amidst the challenges of their shared existence.

As I observed these interactions, a mixture of emotions swirled within me—curiosity, admiration, and a yearning to find my own place amidst this intricate tapestry of relationships.

The entrance of Ghost added another layer of presence to the room, his arrival marked by a sense of gravitas. As he stepped into the space, his eyes scanned the area, settling on the group gathered before him. The distinctive skull balaclava and hood that concealed his features only added to the aura of mystery that surrounded him.

Price's introduction cast a spotlight on Ghost's imposing figure, his stature commanding attention. The simple statement—"This is Ghost"—held a weight that spoke to his reputation and position within this group.

Meeting his eyes, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of apprehension. His gaze bore a cold intensity, a reminder of the seriousness that defined his role. The connection that formed in that brief moment was a silent exchange of acknowledgment, a glimpse into the complexities of this new dynamic.

In this encounter, the diversity of personalities within the barracks became all the more evident. From camaraderie to authority, from familiarity to reserve, each interaction revealed a layer of the intricate tapestry that wove these lives together.

As the morning continued to unfold, Soap's exasperated sigh reverberated through the room, a reminder of the urgency of his impending tasks. "Shit. It's already six thirty. Gotta get going, those rookies better be up already," he muttered, glancing at his watch as he mentally prepared for the day's responsibilities.

"See ya," Soap's departure was swift, accompanied by a casual wave that held a promise of the day's challenges.

Ghost's enigmatic presence remained unchanged, his stance against the counter speaking volumes of his quiet watchfulness.

Gaz's inquiry turned my attention, his raised eyebrow accompanied by a question about my night's rest. "How'd you sleep?" he asked, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity.

"Peaceful," I replied, though the words were tinged with the weight of an unspoken truth. The tension in the room seemed to shift as Ghost's gaze bore into me, an unspoken skepticism that sent a chill down my spine.

Price's voice intervened, redirecting the focus as he mentioned a task for Ghost. "Ghost, can you walk down (Y/n) to the medical unit. I have to run, meeting with Laswell," Price's words were met with a simple acknowledgment from Ghost, his deep British accent punctuating the brief exchange.

The next instruction revolved around the cups that still sat before us, a tangible reminder of their shared routines. "Don't worry about the cups, it's Gaz's turn for dishes," Price's directive was directed towards Gaz, who nodded in understanding before reaching for the cups.

In these interactions, the interplay of responsibility, relationships, and routines continued to weave a complex tapestry of daily life within the barracks. As the minutes ticked away,

As I rose from my seat, Ghost's silent presence was a steadfast companion by my side. An unspoken understanding seemed to settle between us, the weight of his quietude a stark contrast to the cacophony of thoughts swirling within me.

As we walked together towards the entrance, the absence of conversation was palpable. I couldn't help but bite my lip in mild frustration, grappling with the unfamiliarity of prolonged silence. While I understood that some individuals preferred solitude, the prolonged hush felt like a barrier, a reminder of the challenges of forging connections in this new world.

My steps were punctuated by the sense of his eyes upon me, his gaze a constant that seemed to draw attention to my every movement. The lack of verbal exchange intensified my awareness of his presence, the tension of the morning's interactions lingering like an unspoken dialogue.

Unexpectedly, Ghost's stride came to a halt, and his gaze bore into mine. The weight of his words, when they finally came, cut through the silence. "I know you didn't sleep well last night," his statement was both jarring and oddly perceptive, his cold eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. His crossed arms revealed a tapestry of tattoos, a stark contrast to the enigmatic silence that had defined him thus far.

Caught off guard, I met his gaze with confusion, my thoughts racing to grasp the implication of his words. Before I could respond, an interruption broke the moment—a discreet cough that redirected our attention. I turned towards the source of the sound, my eyes falling upon the Southern man I had previously observed amidst a room of masked soldiers.

As the southern man's voice cut through the air, his words bore a sense of recognition. It was clear he had heard about me, becoming a topic of conversation among this close-knit group.

"Graves," he introduced himself, his handshake firm and uncompromising, in stark contrast to Price's gentler greeting. I bit my lip to suppress a wince as the raw skin of my bandaged hand met his rough grip, the contact an unintended reminder of my vulnerability.

"Nice to meet you," I replied, my response careful and measured as I took in his presence. He was tall, not quite as towering as Ghost but still commanding in stature.

A smirk played on Graves' lips, his words dripping with amusement. "Can't believe they stuck you with babysitting duty," he quipped, the sentiment laced with a sense of camaraderie as he turned his attention to Ghost.

"I don't need a babysitter," I retorted, my tone sharp as I glared at the man before me. There was a fire within me, a determination to assert my independence even in this unfamiliar environment.

His smile widened, and he raised his hands in a placating gesture, clearly sensing the intensity of my response. In this brief exchange, the dynamics between us became clear—Graves was a figure of familiarity, someone who knew the ins and outs of this world, and I was an outsider attempting to find my place amidst their established connections.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Graves' words held a touch of cockiness as he smiled down at me, his demeanor making it clear he enjoyed getting a reaction.

At that point, the frustration within me was palpable. His casual condescension was like a trigger, pushing me to the brink of annoyance. Yet, before I could respond, Ghost's voice cut through the tension. "We have places to be," his calm assertion was accompanied by the touch of his hand on the small of my back, a subtle signal that we should move on. It was as if he understood the effect Graves was having on me.

As we walked away from Graves, I couldn't help but glance up at Ghost, my curiosity piqued. "The hell is his problem?" I voiced my thoughts, wanting to understand the underlying dynamics that had sparked such a reaction from him.

"He's an American," Ghost's response was succinct, his tone implying that the explanation should be self-evident.

"I'm an American," I countered, crossing my arms as I looked up at him.

His gaze met mine, and though I couldn't see his expression beneath the mask and hood, I could almost sense the amused smile in his voice. "Only difference is you're from up north. He's southern. It's a big difference," he explained, his words carrying a mixture of familiarity and playfulness. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in response, a playful gesture that hinted at the rapport developing between us. In this brief exchange.

As we arrived at the medical unit, Ghost's gesture of opening the door took me by surprise. He paused at the entrance, his words a quiet assurance that he would be waiting outside.

"You don't need—" I started to protest, but he interrupted me with a simple declaration. "It's part of my job." His response was resolute, leaving no room for argument. I nodded in acknowledgement, silently appreciating the unexpected reassurance he offered.

Just as I was about to step inside, Nurse Ayan approached with a smile, his presence a welcome distraction. "Hope you're ready for tests," he remarked, his gaze directed at me.

"Thanks, Ghost," Ayan's acknowledgment resonated with gratitude as he turned his attention to him. Ghost's nod served as a silent affirmation before he closed the door behind me, leaving me in the capable hands of the nurse.

"Today, (Y/n)," he began in a calm and reassuring tone, "our primary goal is to uncover the underlying cause of the water accumulation in your lungs. To achieve that, we're planning to safely drain the excess fluid and closely monitor your breathing patterns during the process." As I settled onto the medical bed, he pulled up a chair and meticulously arranged his medical instruments. With a deliberate air of professionalism, he extracted his stethoscope, its cold metal glinting under the clinical lights. With a gentle smile, he prompted me to take deep breaths, guiding me through each inhale and exhale. His attention to detail and soothing guidance created an atmosphere of confidence and trust, helping to alleviate my apprehensions about the procedure.

"It appears that the fluid in your lungs hasn't subsided," he remarked, his tone thoughtful, as he carefully set aside his stethoscope. With a decisive nod, he continued, "For the next part of the procedure, I'll need you to remove your sweater." His gesture was gentle, motioning towards my crew neck, and his professionalism helped ease any lingering unease I might have felt.

"Don't worry, only staff members are allowed here at the moment. I just need some improved access to take care of removing the fluid," Ayan explained with a reassuring smile that managed to calm my nerves.

I gave a slight nod, taking my sweater off, noticing a chill swept through the cold room. Wrapping my arms around my exposed neck and shoulders, I hoped to find some warmth and reassurance. He wheeled over a machine topped with a long, needle-like tube. My eyes instinctively squinted at the sight, a reflexive reaction to the imposing instrument.

"Will that cause any pain?" I inquired, my focus locked onto the extended, pointed needle.

"You'll be unconscious during the procedure," he remarked, gesturing for me to lie down on the bed.

"Wait, what?" I responded, my uncertainty evident.

"(Y/n), when you wake up, you'll be given medication. It's a brief process. It shouldn't last more than an hour," he explained before getting up. I nodded, a sense of unease settling in as I reclined on the bed. He brought over another apparatus, this one consisting of a plastic mask attached to a long tube—a form of anesthesia.

"Take a few breaths," Ayan instructed, positioning the mask over my mouth. I nodded and began inhaling slowly. Suddenly, everything went dark as I slipped into unconsciousness.

#modern warfare ghost #modern warfare x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #fanfic #modern warefare 2 x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #price x reader #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warefare ii #gaz x y/n

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

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quiet fury in your head - [iii]

morpheus "dream" of the endless x f!reader!goddess

Note: This is the final part that I’ll be posting today :) Also, this part contains my favorite line toward the end ~ I think you’ll know it when you see it.

As of 9/10: Posted parts have been updated to present tense and Dream refers to reader as ‘you’ instead of she/her.

Warnings/Rating: Mature / Gods being Petty

(Read on Ao3) || (masterpost for other chapters)

*****

Lucienne is eyeing the woman breathing laboriously on the stone floor. Your eyes flicker rapidly beneath your eyelids. Your face flinches in raw, open pain whilst rainwater and blood puddled beneath your prone form.

“You saved her.”

“I did not.” Dream says curtly while pulling his helm from his head. “She could not be unpunished for entering the Dreaming and torturing one of its sleepers.”

“Then, you are going to punish her, my lord?”

“Is that not what I just said.”

Lucienne presses her lips and says nothing more. Dream lowers beside you and frowns at the pulsing, open wounds across your body. He plucks your wrist from the floor, turning it within his palm, and watched your blood trickle down your forearm and over his fingers. It does not make any sense. You are within the Dreaming – your injuries should have faded. Your forearms, hands, and wrists are scattered with small, razor thin cuts. The larger wounds on your stomach, shoulder, and at the crook of your neck shine with gore. A canopy of starlight and stardust ripples overhead—the mottled light glimmers against your sweaty, dirt-streaked cheek.

Perhaps he should have intervened sooner.

He reaches into his pouch of sand, feeling each individual grain as it rubs across the pads of his fingers, and sprinkles a small handful across your wounded hand.

Yet, nothing happens.

Why aren’t you healing? This is his Realm. His Dominion. Frustration notches like an arrow in his chest.

“Sir?” Lucienne’s tone is curious, reserved. She mirrors his own confusion, though he will not speak it aloud. The Dreaming’s shadows lengthen.

His hand slides beneath your graceful neck and his arm tucks behind your knees. He lifts you from the cool, granite floor of his throne room. He carries you, wordless and his expression dour, up the staircase and through one of the labyrinthine corridors of his castle. The room he deposits you into is empty and featureless beyond a single large window that overlooked the glorious Dreaming.

Jessamy flies behind him and perches herself onto your tattooed shoulder.

“Look after her.” Dream instructs his raven. He has duties to attend to within the Dreaming and will not play prison guard while waiting for your injuries to heal. Time is abundant in the Dreaming. And you must recover.

Jessamy caws. “As you wish, my lord.”

* The wounds does not heal but they did not kill you, either. You remain in a liminal stasis that even Dream cannot undo. But he feels you through the Dreaming like gentle waves lapping onto the shore.

Your touch is subtle, slipping through Dream Scenes like a fish, avoiding your own memories, and gliding through the pockets of other sleepers. You rely on your shapeshifting skills, appearing as a gentle dog, or unassuming spider, or one of the many ravens that traveled through his Realm. You are a shadow on the wall cast by flickering candlelight. You are a whisp of gray smoke, intangible, and haunting. He follows the trail of you, the impression and shape of your magic, with tireless effort.

In many instances, Dream thought he captured you, only to discover the creation in the palm of his hand was one of his own. It is maddening. He is not without patience, however. He knows he will find you – the real you - even it takes a millennium.

He is not naïve to think Fate smiled on him when he finally found your hiding place. This place reeks of nostalgia. You have been here before. You must have become careless over these past centuries and made a mistake. It is time for this game to end. It is time for you to submit and accept your punishment for invading and interfering in his realm.

He stands on a rocky cliffside surrounded by tall, swaying grass and regards the exposed skin of your back and shoulder blades. You feed pieces of meat to a flock of different carrion birds—ravens, vultures, and crows. The salty, cool air whips at the tails of his long coat and tousles his mussed, dark hair.

Dream declares, “It is time to wake up.”

“Whatever for?” You snap, waspish, “My sisters are dead.”

Behind you, you hear the call of battle. A familiar dream – a memory. You resist the temptation to turn, to face Lugh, and achieve your vengeance inside the Dreaming. You do not know if Lugh achieved his sainthood. You hope not. You hope the false worshippers had betrayed him and uncrowned him.

You toss a tasty piece of liver to a raven with a white mark on its belly. There is no point to waking. If you wake, you will open your eyes to a world without them. You are parts of one other. You cannot exist as the fury of battle without Macha’s hope of continued life or Badb’s honorable death.

You allow yourself to suffer in a liminal space. You move through the Dreaming like a ghost. You do not dream of your sisters—for doing so would easily call the Dream Lord to you. Though, it seems a moot point now that he found you anyway.

“Centuries have come and gone. Your injuries persist, though your body survives inside my Realm, but you have not earned your absolution.” He says, gravely and deep, the timbre of his voice causing goosebumps to raise on your arms.

He continues, “I have not passed my judgement nor your sentence.”

You sneer, turning to face him in twisted anger, and rise to your full height. The clouds split with lightning and a scuttling brood of insects erupt from the hem of your dark dress. Yes, he is the King of Dreams, but you spent a handful of centuries in the Dreaming, escaping him and taunting him. His creatures whisper your name: Queen of Nightmares.

You wonder how this haughty, arrogant king might respond if you told him of the gossip his people spoke.

“Judgement?” You repeat acidly. “What do you know of punishment, Lord Morpheus? They killed my sisters. They burned our villages. They defiled our burial grounds. I am—” You gesture to yourself, to your faded tattoos, and hollowed eyes. Even in the Dreaming, your powers are a fraction of their once brilliant glory.

“--a shade, a wraith. I have seen the Dreams of Men. They no longer whisper my name before battle. They no longer slaughter livestock for The Morrigan and The Dagda.”

In your imperfect state, you do what you can and gift Dreamers with visions of glorious battlefields, mysterious women, and roaring bonfires with thundering drumbeats.

“Is that not enough? I will fade, from memories and dreams, and yet you stand before me and demand my atonement? For something that happened eons ago to a Man long dead?”

His jaw tightens. For a moment, you think you see something flicker across his silver eyes. You realize this is your first time seeing the Dream Lord without his helm. He has a severe, gaunt countenance. His skin pale, his mouth small and pouted, the light of his eyes burning and eternal. His dark hair whips around his face in the sea-touched breeze.

“You have hidden inside the Dreaming for too long. It is time.” He says sternly before lifting his hand and holding his ruby necklace. You feel the touch of his Power, threatening to buckle your knees, and you resist like a wild horse against a bridle.

You carry no tokens of power. The lack of worship and offerings has weakened you, but you will not bow before him. You will not crumple before another God. Your defeat against Lugh is akin to chewing glass and you have no desire to taste that pain again.

The ruby’s power glows, hot as an ember in a low-burning fire, and you reject the tempting call. You jolt away and frighten the birds at your feet. They squawk and squabble, disturbed, before descending ravenously upon the meat spilled onto the grass.

“Enough!” Dream says. His voice feels as if it’s spoken directly into your ear. He takes a step forward to match your step back. You will not become his prisoner more than you already were.

You run and jump off the cliffside, into the roiling gray waters below.

Bubbles foam around your mouth and tickle your nostrils. Your dress billows like a parachute around your legs, and the strong tide threatens to toss your body like a ragdoll into the treacherous, black rocks.

With salt stinging your eyes, you look up, and light from above fractures through the waves and offers a view of a small, black, and brooding dot at the cliff’s edge. He will follow you. You know it deep within your bones. You need to hide. You need to escape into the Dreaming once more. As long your conscienceless remains spilt, you can spend an entire existence escaping him. Once upon a time, you would have balked at the idea of fleeing. But you are the last of your kind. You owe it to your sisters to survive.

You pull yourself into someone’s dream. Your dress transforms into a thin, white linen shirt and breeches. You cough salt water. You stand and look no better than a drowned rat in the middle of a crowded, open marketplace with cobblestones beneath your feet. You feel his oncoming pursuit. The air sharpens with his approach.

You run through the bodies, leaving wet footprints, and ignore the astonished gasps of Dreamers. You do not have time to marvel at the sights and smells of the Dreaming. In some ways, it is similar to your home—the Otherworld—but in other ways, it is an entirely unique, organic, and vivid creation.

You push open a nearby door to a tailor and walk into another dream. A man lies on his back on the carpet with a woman riding him. The air reeks of sweat, and sex, and woodsy smoke from the fireplace. Like a shroud of mist overtaking the moors of home, you become The Woman inside the dream.

A second later, Dream is stepping into the room with a swirl of sand. You hide your face inside the Dreamer’s shoulder. He groans obnoxiously beneath you. You nibble your lower lip, playing the part of the wanton seductress of this Human’s dream, and observe Dream through your curtain of hair.

He speaks, his voice like black velvet, “I know you are here.”

He raises his hand. You suspect he’s going to tear down the walls of this dream and leave you exposed. There is nowhere to run, no where to phase into, and it seems you are caught. But there is an idea forming in the back of your mind.

You press your tongue to your canine teeth, sharpening them, and sink your fangs into the throbbing neck artery of the dreamer. He screams in fear. His blood spurt over the walls and gushes down your chin—he wakes within the Mortal Realm (unharmed)—and you are left sitting on the woven carpet with your dress hiked up around your hips.

You swallow droplets of Power from the Dreamer’s brief, sudden panic like drinking water from a dripping stalagmite. You lick the blood from your mouth and tilt your head back, assessing the Lord of Dreams, with the fireplace crackling and snapping behind you.

You will play this game of cat and mouse until the cosmos loses all life. He will follow you for an eternity if that means your continued survival.

“I will keep running.” You promise him.

“Do not.” He warns, “For there is no corner of this Realm that I would not find you.”

“Why not keep me here, then? Curse me, punish me, with eternal sleep. ‘Tis a fitting damnation for a creature such as I.”

Why not indeed?

Morpheus finds himself taking pause at your saccharine words. You kneel before him, the sight of it making something low in his stomach twist. Your unfastened bodice reveals your breasts glistening with sweat and speckled with blood. However, you wore the face and body of another. That would not do. He must gaze upon your true face while passing his judgement.

He waves his hand briefly and removes the illusion like pulling gossamer. Your eyes – like two fathomless galaxies – watch him with open, intelligent curiosity.

He recalls your first meeting inside the chapel backlit by prismatic shadows. He thought you magnificent and terrible and the sentiment returned to him now. You carry a sharpened an edge of monstrosity beneath a face of beauty and sorrow. It intrigued him. It inspired him. His fingers twitch with abstract longing to create something.

“Serve the Dreaming as my subject for a century and I will grant you clemency.” A hundred years was a blink in the eyes of an immortal. At least if you remain within his court, his realm, then he will not need to hunt you and follow the trail of impressive nightmares you left behind.

“Serve?” You hiss the word as if it tasted bitter. “I am a Queen. I serve none.”

“You said yourself that you would fade.” Dream says, “I am offering you a chance to return to the waking world. You will not be able to otherwise without my permission.”

Your eyes narrow. “You are the warden and the jail itself.”

“See this for what it is, Morrigan.” His patience is waning, “Mercy.”

You rise slowly to your feet. Your eyes are empty voids of the darkest night. He expects you to bow, or to offer your hand, but you simply stand, straight-backed and proud, awash in quivering flamelight. Your mouth shines dark ruby with blood.

“Choke on your mercy, King of Dreams.”

The fireplace shatters, exploding in white-hot, bright light, and the homestead ignites in a terrible nightmare of a housefire. He extinguishes the flames, soothing the Dreaming, and returning the home to normal within a matter of seconds.

But you are gone. A single raven feather, untouched and unsinged by the flames, rests on the carpet at his feet.

Dream pinches it between his long, pale fingers and rotates it lightly with a twist of his wrist. The sheen of blackness absorbs all light. He feels the low, quiet humming vibration of your power. You are a hellion intent on vexing him.

He considers tossing it into the fireplace, rendering it to ash and smoke, but some compulsion stays his hand. He slides the feather into his cloak.

#the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #the sandman fanfic #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream x fem!reader #fic: quiet fury #dream the endless x you #dream x you #dream x y/n #reader insert fanfiction #m rated fanfic #the sandman fanfiction

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ticklish-touch · 1 year

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Trapped in the Backrooms Ch2: Persuasion

(Ragaeli x lee!Y/N - Consensual chasing & tickling, non-romance CW: Strong language, Liminal spaces, hypnosis, elevatophobia) Shenanigans continue while you and Ragaeli continue to search for a means of escaping the world of the Backrooms. The elaborate hotel you’ve found yourself in has a surprisingly relaxing - albeit eerie - atmosphere. But something else here wants you to check in as an esteemed guest... Forever.

( Chapter theme(s): Jazz playing in another room: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=go358GrFqa “Trust in Me” - Scarlett Johansson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEgkBetZY-M “Catgroove” - Parov Stelar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXrdYwG17PE )

It was a nice change of scenery, going from dingy yellow wallpaper to a fancy vintage 1940's hotel plaza. The lobby itself was enormous. You got up from the comfy loveseat to take a look around, spotting a reception desk all the way across the room. Heading up to it, there were no signs of any staff; just rows of small lockers on the back wall, and a couple desk lamps. Well... Time to look around and see what other craziness the Backrooms had in store for you and your Nightmare buddy.

Heading down the hallway to the first floor, you admired the various decor. Fancy floral carpets, cushioned mahogany chairs placed just outside glass doors that led to... Well, nowhere. Peeking in, the hallways stretched on infinitely, leading to pitch blackness. You considered braving one of them, but... Maybe not yet. It sounded like others were here: there were distinct sounds of whispers, distant conversations, jovial laughter, and... was that smooth Jazz? But any attempts to call out with “Hello? Is someone else here?” fell on deaf ears.

You eventually came to a stairwell leading up to the next floor, the wood creaking below you while you made your way upstairs. There were no signs anywhere indicating how many stories or rooms there were, but you wanted to at least investigate. Most doors to the guest rooms were closed, but were almost always unlocked. Peering inside some of them, you noticed the same recurring vintage aesthetic. It almost felt homey. ...If not for the layers of dust coating almost every piece of furniture.

You wandered into one, curiously peeking through some of the dressers and closets. The light leaking in through the windows made you feel... Uncomfortable. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was because you couldn't actually see anything outside of them; just a wall of grey, like a foggy overcast sky. You decided to close some of the curtains; it helped ease your mind a little. You poked around in some of the dresser and closet doors, not finding anything except old, eroding photos of people in 1940′s-era clothing. And missing faces.

Aside from the isolated halls, it didn't feel as unsettling here as your previous escapade. Still eerie, but oddly welcoming. You somewhat wanted to try and find the voices that were always just out of reach, seeming to come from nonexistant rooms, to join them in their conversations and dance along to the music. The only thing making you genuinely nervous were the occasional elevators you passed by, lit by a similar sickly yellow light as the first environment. Those old-timey metal cages always seemed like death traps... But otherwise, it was actually quite peaceful here. There seemed to be no sign of any dangerous entities. Until something caught the corner of your eye, making you freeze up.

A door to a nearby open room was half-opened, the space filled by a pitch pitch-black wall blocking the entrance, with a pair of eyes and a wide smile peeking out at you. You would've assumed it was Rags, but it looked different; the teeth were those of an omnivore, and the eyes were white and reflective, like the eyes of a cat or raccoon at nighttime. "Uh...Hi..?" You waved over to it. You had a gut feeling that you shouldn't get too close. So you crept by on tiptoe, not tearing your gaze away from the face until you were safely around another corner.

"Smart move." A strange voice whispered, sounding like it was coming from inside the nearest wall and making you jump. What the hell?? It was almost a whisper, a double-voice that was neither feminine nor masculine... Was that the shadow creature speaking? You didn't stick around long enough to identify it, quickly making your way to the end of a hall and ducking into a room with an open door.

Now might be a good chance to take a breather... At least until something stared out at you from the darkness again. Plopping down on one of the beds brought you a sigh of relief; It was actually very comfortable. The musty smell wasn't too great, but nothing too distracting. You let your eyes droop shut; Not to nap, just to rest. You had a gut feeling that you should not fall asleep here.

Without the constant flood of adrenaline and anticipation, you had the chance to think a bit more about what Ragdoll had said when you first got here: The only way out of here was a rift in space-time. You didn't imagine there were many of those to come by. Though you had faith that, if anyone could find one, it'd be the Nightmare. He was beyond powerful enough, practically all-seeing.

But what if he couldn't?

No, you couldn't fall to doubt just yet. Maybe there was some way you could help your monster buddy. You could keep looking out for clues, or maybe there was someone somewhere in this realm you could try to talk to or reason with.

The moment of peace was short-lived. The sound of nails dragging across a nearby wall immediately made you open your eyes and jump upright, your eyes darting around to find the source. It crept closer and closer to the open door; you realized it was coming from the outside hallway. “Oh shit oh shit--” You hopped off the bed and backed up. “Ragman..?” No answer. If it was him, he'd at least respond with that gremlin giggle. So you weren't sure what to expect. Maybe you could lure it to the other side of the room... After a few more moments of silence, you decided to chance it and hurry out of the door, making it out unscathed.

It must’ve been a good twenty minutes since you arrived. More wandering through guest rooms and around zigzagging corners, more climbing stairs. More silence. Man, Ragioli was sure being quiet. Maybe he was busy doing his own bit of exploring. Every now and then, you could hear unintelligible whispering nearby, sounding like that strange double-voice you'd heard before. At first, you didn't dare turn around to look in its direction. But curiosity got the better of you, looking over to an open section of the wall... For a brief moment, you could swear you saw something move near it. Or inside of it. It almost looked like something invisible rippling in the air. A ghost, maybe...? Were there ghosts in this world? Maybe it was one of the 'guests' here.

You were getting real tired of stairs after the fifth floor, pausing in front of one of the elevators to consider your options. Do you dare chance it...? Something seemed to answer your thoughts; the elevator doors opened on their own. Gee, that wasn't ominous at all. Totally not a death trap. But you stepped inside anyways; It might be helpful to check out a few higher floors.

The number panel was almost incomprehensible. They weren't in any sort of order, some of them were blank, others had Greek and Unicode numbers. “Uhhh... Eeny, meeny, miney...” You pressed one of the Greek symbols at random. The elevator creaked and clattered on its way up. It was a slow, daunting ascent. You watched each passing floor through the cage; they all looked more or less the same; like that repeating illusion hallway back in the first location. Maybe Rags’ theory about this place being a simulation wasn’t too far off. You leaned against the back wall of the elevator, sighing and watching the dial climb higher. You bopped along to a song that was stuck in your head. It made up for the lack of elevator music and distracted from the creepy rattling.

The elevator continued to climb up, and up, and up. It also began to speed up its pace. Jesus, just how far did this thing go? Did you press the button to take you to the top? Was there even a top floor?? You started to get nervous when there just didn't seem to be any sign of stopping. Or slowing down. The floor dial was acting erratic, like a compass on the fritz. Your heart rate started increasing along with the elevator's speed. You started pressing other buttons, hoping to make it navigate you to a different floor. "Raaags, I could use your help stopping this thing!!" You shouted up to the ceiling.

After your comment, the elevator creaked and slowed down, finally coming to a stop. But the door didn't open. "Ugh, come on!!” You shook the cage doors and tried fiddling with the handle. Your heart caught in your throat at the loud THUNK of metal just below you. The lights flickered and burnt out. "Oh, no..." There was a jolt and a tremor...

And the elevator plummeted straight down at breakneck speed.

You screamed bloody murder, feeling your stomach drop and your legs practically disappear under you. You clung to the railings for dear life and felt your breath sucked right out of you. "FUCKFUCKFUCK!!! RAAAAGS!! HEEEELP!!"

It screeched to a halt about five seconds later. Thankfully your momentum didn't send you smacking into the ceiling. You hyperventilated heavily, heart hammering in your chest, your hair and clothes totally disheveled, legs splayed out, your knuckles white from gripping the railing so hard. That. Was. Horrifying. And you were mad at yourself that your inner adrenaline junkie also found it exhilarating.

The Nightmare's wild cackling erupted overhead outside the elevator. "I GOTCHAAHAHAHA!!" He hooted and hollered. You gasped in utter betrayal. "RAGS!!! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!" You tried to leap up and grab at the ceiling. "GET DOWN HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!!!" He phased down from the top of the elevator, collapsing in a heap of hysterics, pounding the floor with his fist. "AAAHAHAHAHA YOU SHOHOHOULD'VE SEEHEEHEEN YOUR FAHAHAHACE!!" “I can’t FUCKING believe you!!” You stomped and paced, exasperated. “Here I am trying find a way OUT of here and you’re trynna give me a heart attack!!” But the longer you ranted at him, the more he cracked up in hysterics, hints of his grape-colored tears leaking from his eyes.

"WHY YOU-!!" You could absolutely strangle him. But instead... “Yeah, you wanna laugh at me?? Laugh it up!!” You took the opportunity to lunge down at him and quickly sit on his legs, promptly burying your fingers into his lower midriff and hips, tickling viciously, giving rapid-fire pokes everywhere. "Yeah, VERY funny!!" His laughter just went up an octave and he flailed around. "YEEEE-HEHEHEHE C-COME OHOHON!! Y-YOHOHOU'RE the one who's into thrihihihill rihihides~!!!!" He kicked and shimmied his legs under you, making it difficult to stay in place. “That's different!!" You growled, moving up further to attack his bare midriff, “Save it for when we're not in a different dimension!!” He cackled and shrieked, wiggling under you, still pounding his fists on the floor. Not making an effort to push you off. As pissed as you were, you smiled at the sight. Damn he was handsome, squirming and laughing like this. It was short-lived though; he quickly retaliated, his massive hands clamping onto your sides and spidering their dexterous fingers over your ribs like a piano, giving a shitty smirk the moment you shrieked and recoiled. “Hehehe, you were sayiiing~?” He flipped your positions and shoved you down to the floor. “WAHH-HAHAH S-Staaahahahap alreheheheadyyy-heehee!!” Your face flushed and you flailed underneath him for a few more moments, trying to defend yourself by pinching under his arm with one hand and attacking his belly with quick scribbles and pokes with the other hand. “GYEE-HEHEHE!!” He giggled wildly, growling playfully and doubling his efforts, sending ticklish jolts through your torso and hips. “Heheheh, awww, is the little morsel all maaaad at me for pranking ‘em~?” He cooed and taunted. “Come onnn, I know ya can’t stay mad at me~! Just look at that smiiile~!” You kept up the tickle-fight for a good few minutes, holding your own pretty well against the relentless tickle monster; though no matter how strong you were, he’d always manage to wrestle you right back down into a position that left your most ticklish spots vulnerable, locking onto them and barraging them with tickles until you were shrieking and barking out profanities between bouts of laughter. He eventually relented, sitting back on his arms and splaying his long legs out. He took up the whole elevator floor. Whoo, that was a tasty energy boost~” he licked his lips. “There’s all kinds of different screams I can get out of ya~!” “Y-Yeah, so glad I could be your personal buffet,” you gave him a shove. "So, did you find any clues or not?"

He shook his head. "No rifts anywhere. And those hallways out past the glass doors are totally blocked from my sight. Going through them just leads right back out to the main hallways, like a fricken’ Pac-Man maze!” He scratched his chin. “And something else is definitely sneakin' around in here... I can't detect it for some reason." He shrugged and jumped up to his feet. With a snap of his fingers, his outfit poofed from his emo-punk getup to... a Bellboy uniform. Complete with hat, but still barefoot. “Sir Reginald at your service,” he put on a cockney accent and took a bow. ”Pfff-! Wow, don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear something so fancy.” He giggled. “Much as I don’t give a shit bout blending in, maybe it’ll help lure that sneaky creeper outta the shadows. It can't hide from me foreverr~” he snickered and pressed the button to open the elevator door, gesturing to it with a bow. "After you~ I’ll catch up with ya later. I'll make sure these pesky elevators don’t go haywire on you again, trust me~” he winked.

“Yeah, they’d better not,” You gave him a shove and stuck your tongue out at him as you headed onto what appeared to be floor 666. Okay, edgelord.

You considered his comment about heading into the abyss of one of those branching hallways. You made your way toward the nearest set of glass doors, tentatively pushing past it, walking out into the pitch-black hall ahead... Only to end up coming right back through another set of glass double-doors. Out of curiosity, you tried looking behind yourself as you pushed the glass door open.. From the glass doors on the adjacent wall, you could see yourself. Like a reflection or a Portal illusion. “Whoa.” “You will not make any progress through those doors.” The double-voice spoke casually, sounding as if it was just a few feet away. You jumped and spun around to try and find the source. You saw that illusion out of the corner of your eye again: The wallpaper rippling and bowing outward. There was definitely something, or someone, invisible inside of it. You tried to follow it with your eyes, but it was difficult. It was like your eyes didn't want to comprehend it. it kept fading out of your sight, like one of those bizarre 3D ‘Magic Eye’ images in books. “Hello??” This must've been what the Nightmare was talking about, right? How come he couldn't detect it, but you kept noticing it?

It only took a few more minutes of following the invisible shape until you got your answer. Tracking it to the wall dead ahead, you gasped: The pattern of the wallpaper was broken up by two glowing, opalescent orbs: A pair of eyes with squiggly horizontal pupils. You stepped closer. “I can see you, y'know,” you spoke up sternly. “You've been following me around, haven't you?”

Now that you'd noticed its presence, it made itself visible, phasing into existence in front of you. It had a very tall, masculine human body, dressed in a formal suit, with the head of a... Cuttlefish? For a moment they just stood motionless, arms folded behind their back, staring at you.

“Uh... Hi,” you gave them a cautious wave. “Is this your hotel?” The entity nodded. “Oh, well it's very nice!” "Thank you,” they responded. They took a few steps forward, tilting their head. "You seem different than others that have been here." You stood your ground. "Really? How so...?" "You run away, yet you're curious. You aren't deterred by what your species may deem 'monstrous'.”

"Oh, well..." You weren't sure how to explain that monsters and the like were very much up your alley. "I mean, it doesn't really do any good being afraid of everything 'different'," you shrugged. "Just because something may look monstrous doesn't necessarily mean that it's evil. Sure, people should be cautious, but people can’t learn anything about the world if they just decide they’re not going to try to understand it.”

Their tentacles twitched a bit. “How interesting.” They took a couple steps forward. “There is a point where curiosity becomes naivety. Keeping one's heart open, keeping one’s mind hungry for knowledge, can inevitably lead them right into the jaws of danger. Monsters care not for the childish optimism of their prey.” "Well, sure, but..." You wanted to explain that it was, in fact, a monster keeping you safe from the dangers.

“You should stay here.”

"...Huh?"

“You should stay here,” they repeated. “With the rest of us.” It wasn't a question, or a suggestion. It was a command. "Uhhh I can't really do that," you took a step back. "I'm trying to get home." “This can be your home.” Another step forward. “It's peaceful. Free from judgment and ignorance. Free from dangers. As long as you don't disturb the Smilers.” You sighed a little. So much for finding someone to reason with. “Look, I appreciate it, but I have friends and family that'll miss me. I have a whole life back in my world.” “Friends that abandoned you? Left you to rot away in a world you know nothing about?” “What?? No!! They had nothing to do with-”

The entity's head and tentacles suddenly started to light up in a dazzling, rippling display of colorful stripes, two of their tentacles splaying out to the sides. Their unblinking gaze drilled into you, glowing more vibrantly, their squiggly horizontal pupils shrinking to slits. "Wha-"

“You can trust me,” their tone became lighter, and friendlier; quite the contrast from their intense, borderline hostile gaze. “You'll like it here. You'll be well provided for. Room service, complimentary meals, comfortable beds. Jazz nights every week.” Their mesmerizing facial patterns were difficult for you to tear your gaze away from. For a brief moment, you actually considered their offer. Soon, they were little more than a foot away from you, looming over you, facial patterns still swirling and rippling. You swallowed back the lump in your throat, tried to turn your head or even close your eyes, but it felt like a static washing over your senses. Maybe I can stay here...

You didn't notice the entity slowly raise their arms up, outside of your peripheral vision. You didn't see their clawed fingers morph into tentacle-like appendages, starting to drip with a narcotic neurotoxin.

You also barely noticed the lights in the hallway going out, one by one.

Ragaeli faded in from a dark haze, right behind the entity, arms outstretched, and fingers wiggling, mirroring the actions of the other. Just as the entity sensed him and ceased their attempts to put you in a trance, the Nightmare clamped his hands around their sides, his hands buzzing with his crackling red magic. He wasn't taking any chances. But there was no reaction. No laughter or startled yells, no wriggling around. They looked outright offended when they whipped around, their hands morphing back to normal as they folded their arms. “You've some nerve, laying a hand on me.”

Rags blinked hard, before snorting. “Pfff- Damn, nothing, huh? Lame,” He put his hands on his hips. “That's some pretty clever magic of yours though~! Perception camouflage. Kinda similar to mine, actually!” He poofed out of sight in a puff of smoke, his uniform hat getting left behind and dropping to the floor. “Fool your friends! Fun at parties!!” His voice darted around the air around both of you. With another poof, he reappeared, giggling. The entity didn't seem phased, or amused. They tilted their head. “You’re the other presence I felt stalking about. Following this Wanderer, toying with them as if they are your prey.” Rags scoffed. "Oh, and you're not doing the same? At least I have something way more fun in mind than trynna drug 'em up and hold them hostage in some hoity-toity, dusty old-”

In a flash, the entity jutted out an arm to hold their tentacle fingers right up to the Nightmare's neck; and the other arm out in front of you, their fingers stretching out to splay its tentacles inches away from your face. You inhaled sharply and froze in place, not sure whether you should try to run. But Rags wasn't deterred by the threat. “Heh, struck a nerve, did I~?” With a flick of his wrist, he used his magic to tug their hand back away from your face. As if to answer, the creature's head started to flash and ripple in angry hues of yellow and orange, its tentacles wrapping around Rags' throat, seeping with toxins. “You'd do well not to defy me-” they started to growl sternly; But was interrupted by Rags jabbing the sides of their squishy head with his index and middle fingers, giving off a bright red spark. They jolted sharply, before their head and arms slumped over. They remained standing in place, unresponsive.

"Whoa; what did you just do?? You didn't kill them...?" He quickly shook his head. "You'll seeee~" He cooed.

The entity stirred. They let out a low, raspy chuckle. "Ohh... I see. That is a fun idea..." Slowly, they lifted their head and peeked over their shoulder at you. For a brief moment, their head and tentacles shifted to black and pale red stripes.

"R..Rags?? What did you do?" You repeated. He gave a giddy little snicker. "Weeelll, they tried to put you in a trance, I just decided to give 'em a taste of their own medicine~"

You gawked. "You're mind-controlling them?!" Ragaeli quickly shook his head. "Not mind control. Subconscious suggestion," he tapped a finger to his temple. "I just zapped 'em with a few of your memories, that's all. I suggested a different game to play with us. What they do after that is their decision~" “I never knew Wanderers could be so weak to touch...” The hotel manager chuckled, taking a step closer to you. “That’s really quite endearing...”

You swallowed. “H-Hey now-” Without giving you more time to react, they flung their arms and tentacles out to wrap around you, pulling you close. You yelped and instinctively tried pulling away, but were met with the feeling of the slippery appendages writhing and kneading over your armpits and ribs, immediately loosing a shriek of laughter from you. "YIEE-HAHAHA N-NOOHOHOHO!!" Your face flared up, shuddering from the sensations, wriggling back and forth and tried to tug their arms free.

Rags snapped his fingers, and the entity's arms were held up by magic, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Both he and the cuttlefish letting out wicked laughter. “How cute...” “Riiight~?” Rags giggled, patting your head. “Totally worth not knocking them out just yet, right? You wanna hear more of that cute laughter, see more of that helpless desperation, draw a feeling of glee out of them without havin’ to trance them first~!” The cuttlefish nodded. “I suppose I’ll humor you for now and play along with this little game...” And both of them, leaning in on either side of your ears: "You should run~"

The moment they released their hold, your adrenaline kicked in again and you bolted.

You could swear you heard the Nightmare and the camouflaged entity snickering evilly at every turn. When you thought you could see the air in front of the wallpaper ripple, you’d turn the other way. When Ragdoll’s stomping or giggling echoed from one of the nearby stairwells, you booked it up or down the next flight. Every now and then, the Nightmare would phase into the room from inside one of the many paintings decorating the walls, sending you booking it in the other direction. Even taking a moment of reprieve near the elevators wasn’t safe. The metal death cage stopped at your floor and with a ding of a bell, opened to Reggie - still in his Bellboy uniform - flashing you a shitty grin with his arms behind his back. “Next stop, our Diamond Suites~! Comfiest beds in the Backrooms, complete with bed straps and drawers and drawers full of the most torturous tickly instruments in this or any dimension, hehehehe~!” He tried to usher you into the elevator. “Yeahh nice try, I’m not gonna let you wreck my shit and pull a Tower of Terror on me again,” you stuck your tongue out. “C’monnn, I know you wannaaa~” His grin became more devilish and he gave you a wink. Before you could make another snarky comment, you were scooped up from behind, the manager fading into view again, opal eyes glaring at ‘Reginald’. “You will not misuse my elevators again,” they huffed, casually letting their clawed digits scritch and knead over your ribs, sneaking in toward your belly. “YyYYEE-HEHEH!! Y-Yeheheheah, what thehehey sahahahaid!!” You shook your fist at Rags, feeling your face quickly heat up. You were glad to be on playful terms with this entity now. Ragdoll rolled his eyes. “Well I’m just doing my job, but fine, I’ll meet up with you again after you give my buddy the answer they need~!” He pressed a button and rode the elevator down out of sight. The cuttlefish let out a low, clicky purring by your ear. “You seek answers, hmm? Then find your way to the Ballroom, and I may just give you a clue~” They released their hold on you and faded out of sight again. You took a moment to compose yourself before continuing onward. Where the hell were you supposed to find a ballroom in this place?? You kept an eye out for signs; there weren’t many to go off of. Reception, boiler room, outdoor gardens... You were so busy focusing on finding signage that you nearly ran smack-dab into a pitch-black wall with another one of those smiling faces staring out at you. “AGH-!” You gasped and jumped back when you saw it from your peripherals. It hissed through its teeth, just about to strike at you with two shadowy claws... Then Ragdoll came flying through a nearby painting, jabbing a couple fingers into the dark mass, just above the creature's eyes, giving off another bright red spark of magic - before promptly launching himself into a painting on the opposite side of the wall, his gremlin giggling still echoing overhead.

The creature gave off a startled screech, the entire mass trembling. Its eyes briefly flashed yellow, its Cheshire smile spreading even wider. "Ohh fuck no-" was all you managed to comment, before two dark limbs lashed out and pulled you inside. Your body was flooded with the feeling of a hundred gentle pokes, strokes and scritches. In the pitch-blackness, you had no way of knowing where it would come from next, or when it would end. The smiling face now peered down at you from above, snickering wickedly. “AaaAAH-Hehehehe!! D-Dahahammihihit!! N-Not you toohoohoo!!” You wriggled and tugged in its gentle, but surprisingly strong shadowy grip, yelping and whining and feeling goosebumps crawl up your skin from the feather-light touches teasing your hips, navel and ribs. You practically yelled when more of them slipped straight down into your shoes to flurry and vibrate, making you kick your legs around. “GAAH-HAHAHA!!”

But then... Something in your talisman must've sensed a shift in the entity's intentions. The moment before the creature turned its shadowy hands into daggers and thorns to impale you with, your charm gave off a sudden blinding red spark of magic, making you both shriek from the ticklish shock. You knew that was a sign that the game was over; you managed to pull away from the dark mass, coming out on the other side and booking it right as the creature let out an angry hiss.

After continuing to search, you were guided to the hotel Restaurant. Making your way inside, it was just as overly-exuberant as the rest of the place, with smooth Jazz playing from the nearby stage - despite the fact that no-one was playing the instruments that stood stationary.

You ducked down to hide underneath one of the nearby dining tables, just in time to hear Reggie's big ol stompers follow behind you. He snickered and started to walk slow, deliberate circles around the table. "Gee, I wonder where they went..." You heard his claws tapping, slowly and repeatedly, on the surface just above you. The sound gave you goosebumps. "They'd better not keep themselves tucked away too long, they're gonna get found eventually~!" He teased in a singsong voice, giggling wildly. “A shame we can't stay here for too long, I'd check us into one of the rooms and keep you in there with me to Netflix-and-Giggle! Not sure the TVs here have Netflix though... or if there even are TVEEEEE-HAHA!!" You took your chance to lunge from under the table and latch onto one of his feet, scritching and prodding over his arches and toes. He yelped with giggles, stumbling and falling back against the chairs for a moment and you started ducking and weaving around the tables in an attempt to shake him off. As you did, he put on his Bellhop act again, complete with accent. “Come now, this is no way for an esteemed guest to behave! I’m going to have to put you under house arrest at this point!!” He made grabs for you, and you practically climbed over table booths. “Yeah, well suck it!! This place is three stars at best!!” A loud hiss answered from a wall just behind you, the manager’s vivid glowing eyes and splayed writhing tentacles appearing in the air. “AAHH I’m kidding I’m kidding!!” You laughed and scurried out of the restaurant area. Unfortunately your comment seemed to have ticked them off; you could now hear them following very closely behind. You hardly had the chance to try climbing a flight of stairs before you were yanked by an invisible force into a nearby suite, the door slamming behind you. The cuttlefish glared down at you, arms folded across their chest. They didn’t look angry anymore, just unamused. “H-hey now, I was just joking earlier, this is a great hotel,” you smiled nervously up at them. “Very homey, great atmosphere...” They simply walked forward, making you back up further and further, until the backs of your knees pressed against the bed and you stumbled onto the mattress. They leapt forward and straddled either side of you, and as you scrambled back against the pillows, they outstretched their hands; one morphed its fingers into tentacles, the other remained clawed. “I believe you. But a comment like that still deserves to be... reprimanded~” They curled and scrunched their digits, wriggling them closer and closer to you... Until, without warning, they slipped their claws under your top, giving your belly a squeeze.

“AH! W-Wahahahaitt!!” You yelped all the more when their tentacle-hand also started exploring. They were more gentle with their methods than their initial spring-attack; They took their time scritching, poking, dancing their dexterous claws over your torso. Their tentacle suckers gave little ‘kisses’ over your belly. “MmMMF-Hehehehe!!” You tried, and quickly failed, to hold back your snickering, wriggling back and forth, trying to suck in your gut. Although they couldn't smile or change the expression in their glassy opal eyes, you could still see a mischievous twinkle behind them, their squiggly pupils dilated and the patterns on their head flowing in a soft ripple. "Those memories of yours told me something interesting... They showed me how easily you are persuaded by verbalization." "Wh-what do you mehehean?" They leaned down closer to your ear, their double-voice speaking in a low whisper. "You're ever so tiickliiish, aren't you~?" You let out a startled yelp, not at all expecting a tease out of an otherworldly entity like this. "AH-!! N-Noohoho!!" They tilted their head. "No? But clearly you are. Perhaps I will just have to convince you further." They un-straddled their leg from around you and reached up above you to grab one of the pillows; in just a few swift movements, they pulled the pillowcase off, grabbed your wrists, and tied them above your head. You gasped and felt your blush deepen, knowing your sides and armpits were even more vulnerable now. The entity flurried their claws up and down one armpit, and had their tentacles slip down your sleeve of the other arm, slithering around. “YIEE-HEHEHEHE!!” You whined and shimmied side to side like a fish. "It's such a curious thing, this 'ticklishness'...It's almost cute how easily a Wanderer can succumb to their own nervous systems being turned against them. Becoming helpless, giggling little fools, flooded by sensations their minds and bodies cannot fight against, let alone fully comprehend..." You whined, feeling the entity's explanations getting to you all the more. Their sly chuckle told you they were totally doing it on purpose. After the cuttlefish felt satisfied with their efforts on your upper half, they slid themselves off of the bed; not before grabbing another pillowcase. They casually walked over and took your ankles, ignoring your kicking and fidgeting, tying them together too. "A-Aahhaha, wahahait..." You giggled nervously. "Ah, yes, this is a particularly sensitive spot of yours, isn't it?" They wriggled their tentacles and fingers in front of your soles, keeping their eyes locked on you to watch your reactions. Their claws began to scritch, pinch and poke the ball of your foot and between your toes, dragging their nails slooowly down your sole. The tentacles on their other hand slithered over every crevice, between each toe, their suckers sticking and unsticking in rapid succession to cause a sort of ticklish ‘vibration. And it all drove you crazy. “ShitshiTSHIT-HAAHAHAHA NOOOHOHOHOO!!” Your body twisted, bucked and flailed on the bed, the entity’s skilled hands causing unbearable ticklish jolts coursing through your feet. “NAAHAHAHAHA!! P-PLEHEHEHEASE~!” Their hands switched places; their tentacles morphed into claws, and their other claws stretched into tentacles, keeping up their cruelly delicate methods for a few more minutes. Only when you were a whining, gasping mess did they relent and pull their hands away, folding them behind their back. They folded their arms behind their back and slowly walked up to the side of the bed to glance down at you. “I wonder...” “W-Wonder what?” You smiled anxiously up at them. “How mean would it be... if I convinced you that you’re even more ticklish?” Their head and face bloomed into rippling waves and patterns again. You gasped. “Ohh no, don’t you dare...” But you already felt it taking effect. From head to toe, your body tingled and erupted in goosebumps. The slightest graze of their claws against your ribs sent an electric ticklish jolt through you. “YYEEHEHEHE NOOOHOHAHAHA!!” You bucked a foot in the air. The cuttlefish chuckled. “The sensitivity of your nerves continues to climb higher and higher... You’re almost more ticklish than what you can bear...” They idly traced their claws in circles around and around your belly and ribs. You yelled. “P-PLEHEHEHEASE!! Thahahahat’s high enohohohough!!” You whined, trying desperately to hide your bright blushing face against your arm. You could feel every brush of fabric from your clothes, you could feel the soft mattress against any bare skin, you continued to be gently, methodically poked and stroked by the entity’s claws. And it tickled like hell. The next few minutes felt twice as long once they went in on you and started swiftly, rapidly tickling over every single weak spot they could find; up and down your torso, squeezing your legs and knees, walking down to slither their tentacles against your soles and toes, and along the sides of your feet. And you could only answer with loud shrieks of laughter, trying desperately to twist your body on the bed - which inadvertently opened up even more ticklish targets on your back. You weren’t unused to having your ticklishness tampered with like this; you knew damn well how the Nightmare could ramp up your sensations to unbearable degrees... And then drive you into utter madness by wreaking havoc with his hands and tendrils. Thankfully - or maybe unfortunately - the cuttlefish was a bit more gentle with their methods, and pulled their hands away again once you were left totally breathless. "You've grown very tired. And quite content. My offer still stands, you know... You can stay here." Once again, their head-stripes began to ripple and flare in a kaleidoscopic pattern, leaning in close to you. “I could tickle and toy with you, day in and day out~ You will not know any fear, or weariness... Only laughter~” The thought send shudders through you. But once again, before you could seriously consider their offer, Ragdoll's vivid orange eyes phased into view from inside the wallpaper above the bed, followed by his smile; a very irritated smile. "We had a deeeaaal," he growled. The manager sighed, rolling their eyes - you had no idea a cephalopod could roll their eyes - and ceased their hypnotic attempts again. "Very well. We will meet in the ballroom, then, as I stated. But it will be your last chance to prove your resolve." They untied you, before turning invisible again. Ragdoll’s gremlin giggling hovered in the air. "Better make a run for it while you can~" You groaned. For once, you didn't want to take off. You’d just managed to get settled in. "Can it be a casual walk instead? I've been running a lot as it is, and this bed is pretty cozy..." In a red flash, Rags pounced out of the wall and landed above you, crouched on all fours. "We're on a tight schedule, remember??" His hand lit up in sparks and he placed his large hand to your belly, giving off a shockwave. "WAAGH-HAHAHA!!" You leapt in place on the bed. "There, that oughta replenish you for a little while~" You realized that it wasn't just ticklish retaliation - your body felt revitalized. Your muscles weren't sore, your eyelids weren't droopy; and your body was no longer sensitive to an unbearable degree. "Heh, thanks. Well on that note..." You tuck-and-rolled off of the bed, quickly ducking out of the doorway. Once Ragman had chased you through a couple more hallways, he stopped, presumably to keep looking around the dimension. You used the chance to walk the halls and more carefully look around for a sign to the Ballroom. Finally, you saw a sign for it just ahead. Stepping inside, your eyes and mouth went wide. It was huge. And... totally empty. But the sounds of Jazz music, laughter and idle chatter lingered in the air; this place seemed to be the source of all the voices from before. After taking a few more steps forward, you began to see flashes and ripples in the air: Visions of people, dressed in Victorian-era clothing; some looked human, some didn’t. All of them were lacking faces. They looked a lot like some of the photos you had found in the guest rooms’ dresser drawers. These visions only lasted for a second or two before they faded out of view again. The manager stood in the middle of the dance floor, arms folded behind their back, patiently watching you approach. “Looks like I made it here,” You grinned smugly at them. “So are you gonna give me a clue or-” They instead took you by the hands, and started to do a waltz with you. They didn’t seem to mind your awkward steps, making sure to keep pace with you. “It’s nice seeing you enjoying yourself here, you know. So many Wanderers pass through here, frightened, starving, injured, trying so hard to escape... But doing so only brings them more strife.” Despite their unchanging gaze, they sounded disheartened. “I wish only to keep people safe. Once they sleep in one of my guest beds, they will leave their physical shells behind. No more hunger, or pain, or weariness.” They gestured to the flickering hologram-like visions of the other guests. “Only peace, and jovial celebration.” So... you were right. It would have been a bad idea to fall asleep. You didn’t really want to argue the morality of the entity’s methods, though. Especially since, all things considered, this very well might have been a better outcome for some poor soul that didn’t have a Nightmare god at their aid. "However,” they spoke up, interrupting your silent contemplation. “If you truly wish to leave, then I will give you a clue... Look for something out-of-place."

You raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, out of place?" "Exactly as I said. Something that does not fit into the hotel's aesthetic. Find it, and you may just escape. It’s not far from here. But find yourself trapped again, and I may just keep you here forever..." They snapped their fingers. Immediately, some of the specters responded to the sound, hovering over to where you stood, enclosing you as they circled around, giggling. “But perhaps I should make you persuade them as well... Give them a reason as to why I should let you leave~” You gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh come on...” The manager was definitely just fucking with you at this point. “HeeeEEYYY EVERYBODY~!” The air was suddenly booming with the sound of the Nightmare’s voice, and the lights turned dim. The flickering specters gasped and ceased their dancing and efforts to keep you boxed in, looking around for the source. Poofing into view on top of one of the tables, Ragdoll struck a pose, having switched out his Bellboy outfit for a very handsome old-timey suit and derby hat. He flashed the “crowd” a charismatic smile, and with a flick of the wrist, a microphone stand appeared in his hand. “Well now, ladies and gents, quite a lively, lovely bunch we’ve got here tonight! But how ‘bout we really get this place bumping??” He tossed away his hat and snapped his fingers; the soft Jazz was replaced by louder, energetic Swing. He hopped off and started to dance around the room, able to take the hands of the ‘invisible’ guests and twirl them around, switching between doing the Rumba and the Foxtrot. It didn’t take long for the guests to get riled up and join the party; despite their lack of faces, their excitement could be heard. The cuttlefish, on the other hand, was very irritated. “Who does your friend think he is, hosting Swing night a week early and stealing the thunder from my Jazz band??” Their face flared with angry orange hues. Better take your chance while you can!! You heard Rags’ voice in your head. You jumped and gasped, and quickly heeded his advice while the entity and their guests were distracted by his antics, slipping past them and sneaking out of the door on the farthest wall. You’d made a fair amount of distance before the sound of Swing music finally faded into the background. It was time to wrap up this Scooby-Doo escapade. You examined everything more intently than ever, trying to find anything that looked out of place.

Then, you spotted it: A large painting out of the corner of your eye, making you stop in your tracks to take a closer look. It was low to the floor and had a black minimalist frame, with a photograph of what appeared to be the inside of a modern warehouse or massive hardware store. You walked up and placed your hand against it... And gasped when it rippled and let your hand slip right in, like the surface of a pond. “Well bravo... You’ve found it.” The cuttlefish phased themselves out of the wall next to the painting, slowly applauding you. “I’ll admit, your determination is commendable. You’re certain you don’t wish to stay here?” They tilted their head. This time, the question felt less demanding, and more... Wistful. You felt a little sorry for them. All of your interactions made you realize that maybe they were just a little lonely. Well-intentioned, with questionable methods. You sighed. “Yes, I’m sure,” you stood firmly in place. “My friend can’t stay here any more than I can. He’s going to disappear if he can’t find a way back to his own world. Well, temporarily, anyways. He always comes back, but he may not be able to find his way back here. It’d break our heart if we couldn’t ever see each other again.” The entity nodded. “Very well, then... As utterly irritating as this friend of yours may be, it brings peace of mind knowing you have an entity like him keeping watch over you.” They chuckled. “Perhaps putting your trust in some monsters isn’t such a bad idea. “And... perhaps I could entertain my other guests with the games we’ve played~” They extended their tentacle-digits to slither up against your ribs one last time, before taking a bow and gesturing to the painting. “After you, then. Please, stay safe.”

You heard the faint echo of Swing music and a guest’s distant “Farewell!” as you stepped into the painting.

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Chapter One Chapter Two (current) Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

Footnotes: "Terror Hotel": https://backrooms.fandom.com/wiki/Level_5 Smilers: http://backrooms-wiki.wikidot.com/entity-3 Jesus, I finally finished this chapter. I’d meant to get it posted before Halloween, but I just got too swamped with work and with con crunch (just got back fromt he con a couple days ago). Also, this chapter was actually going to be combined with the next chapter, but I realized it was getting too long and I was condensing it more than I would’ve liked instead of taking my time to flesh it out.

Even though the entity was only briefly mentioned in the Wiki, I’ve grown more attached to my interpretation of them than I realized I would, oops

#backrooms #backrooms hotel #hypnosis #tickling #tickle fic #monster #monster boy #tickle monster

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