#dreamwalking

beauty in the grotesque

tags will be inconsistent and for our own archive.

—dead dove do not eat;

untagged nsfw and gore, dark fiction*

* i don’t care about policing fiction. purity politics, thought crimes, etc.. are all unwelcome. exploring dark themes in fiction does not reflect real life morals or ethics.

the block button is our friend. feel free to block if you don’t want me following so i don’t accidentally refollow, as i will not remember.

— recuerda que morirás —

[Name] [Last Name] is the elemental master of the moon. A gift she inherited from her father. A gift? Wait, let's change that. It could be considered as a curse too. Maybe? There are good sides and bad sides. 

The good sides of her elemental power; [Name] is stronger underneath the moon and can create moon shaped weapons. Her pupils are now crescents after unlocking her true potential which she finds pretty cool. She can also control dreams. Not just hers, anyones. She has an accidental habit of dreamwalking but she is trying to control it. The last time she did it, she walked into a dream of one of the popular kid’s sex dreams. It was not fun. At all. 

Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can still see it. 

Anyways, the downsides of being the elemental master of the moon. [Name] cannot be in the sun for long. It drains her tremendously and she faints. Dreamwalking for too long makes her nose bleed and she can not dream for a while. Oh, one of the major things too is that it is a struggle for her to sleep for herself. But her daily naps do help her. And she mostly has evening classes at university so she can sleep in the morning, train and go to university in the afternoon and evening, whilst also doing patrol around New Ninjago City. 

So, it is not all bad. [Name] has helped a lot of people with her elemental power. And most would assume that. But, her father is dead. So who knows truly?

It is the rare occasion where [Name] is awake in the morning. Very very rare. She yawns, covering her mouth as she walks through the monastery. The monks walk past her, [Name] bowing her head out of respect. Dedicating your whole life to the teaching of the first spinjitzu master is so insane. She would never do something like that. It is practically insane. And takes a lot of hard work. 

"Hey!" [Name] turns, seeing Cole jogging over to her. "I didn’t think you’d be awake,"

"Yeah…" [Name] whispers. She stretches, slowing her walk so that it can match up with Cole’s. "Me neither. How was your sleep? Did you dream about Nic?"

Cole scrunches his face up, turning it away from the elemental master as [Name] laughs. So that is a yes. Nicholas Ramiez is Cole’s crush. It’s a huge crush. A massive one. Could be love but Cole would never admit that. 

"I would actually," [Name] tells him, cracking her fingers. "I did not do any dreamwalking so I do not know anything,"

"No dreamwalking?" Cole repeats, rubbing his chin. "At all? Damn [Nickname]. How do you feel?"

"Annoyed because you’re avoiding the subject,"

"Damn," Cole whispers. "Nothing ever gets past you, Mune," Mune. The nickname she got. It was also her father’s nickname. 

"Not in any realm," [Name] smiles. "So, did you?"

"Yeah," Cole mutters, rolling his eyes. "It uh-was just a date dream. Nothing really happened," This is a lie. It was a sex dream. 

Ninja are really good at lying, they have to be with the job they have. But it is possible for them to slip up. Cole just slipped up. 

"Oh?" [Name] raises her eyebrow, a small smile on her face. "How strange. Your heart is beating way too fast for a date dream," She laughs, opening the door for the open plan kitchen. 

The monastery is weird. Peculiar to most, strange to all. The monastery only allows certain people to find it. Mostly elemental masters, some monks who wish to master the skills and knowledge of the first spinjitzu master. If someone else was to try and look for it or get lost in the forest which surrounds the monastery, they'd be guided out by the forest. The monastery is also weird on its own. You know how Hogwarts makes rooms appear when you need them? Yeah, the monastery is a bit like that now. It kind of...evolved when the ninja elemental powers did. 

So rooms appear and disappear sometimes. The quiet room, where all the prophecies are formed or discovered, appears when a prophecy is about to be discovered. The bedrooms are the most solid and only disappear when they haven't been at the monastery for a long time. But they are still living at the monastery for now…until they decide to move out. Which could be soon?

Zane has his pink apron over his front as he finishes frying the eggs. He turns slightly, noticing [Name]. 

"[Name]," He nods, giving her a small smile. "I did not know you would be awake. I would have made a large portion,"

"That’s okay," [Name] smiles, walking over to cupboards to bring out the plates and bowls for everyone. "I am probably not going to eat much," Also a downside in her elemental power. [Name] does not have a large appetite. 

"Try," Cole tells her gently, getting the cutlery. [Name] shrugs with a nod. Of course she will try. She always tries. It just does not go well. 

"Good morning!" Jay strolls into the room, Nya yawning behind him. "[Name]? You’re awake!"

"I am awake," [Name] agrees, Nya sitting on the chair as she rubs her eyes.  Jay kisses Nya’s forehead, taking a bowl from Cole. "How was your sleep?"

"Pretty good,"

"How was yours, Mune?" Nya questions, stretching her hands above her arms. 

"Uh…" [Name] tilts her head. "It was…an experience," It was nothing. "Where’s Lloyd and Kai?"

"I’m pretty sure Kai is with Skylor," Cole starts, sitting next to [Name]. "I thought he slept over…?"

"I don’t even know," Nya mumbles, lying her head against the table. [Name] looks over to Nya, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Why is Nya so tired? Was her dream exhausting? "Zane?"

"I do recall him leaving for patrol last night," Zane states, taking off his apron. "Perhaps, he stayed-"

A loud groan cuts off the nindroid, Lloyd plodding into the room and sitting on a chair. Nya raises her head, watching as the legendary ultimate spinjitzu master goes partially limp and allows his head to hit the table. 

The group look at each other before Cole motions for [Name] to talk to him. [Name] makes a face. Why her? Why not anyone else? Literally anyone else? There are four other people in the room! 

It was rather strange how [Name] met Lloyd. As we know, [Name] has the ability to dream walk. And when she was not that attuned with her elemental power, she dreamwalked into Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon’s dream. Sixteen year old [Name] was in complete and utter shock. She did not mean to in any way. But it seemed that in the dream, Lloyd had taken no notice and was under the assumption that [Name] was a part of the dream. A figment of his imagination. And when he woke up from the dream, he smiled more that day. 

Something that he could not place however, is that this figment of his imagination had an energy signature. An old one. But not how he would sense with uncle or father. Not his mother though, as she reminds him continuously that she is not old. But the energy is ethereal. A comforting hug. It reminded him of…the moon. And when [Name] walked past him in real life, he immediately recognised that energy. And that fact that she had elemental energy in her. And from then friendships formed. 

Not well. Lloyd is a very awkward being. So he came off weird. And [Name] wanted to avoid him because she was in his dream. But even though Lloyd is awkward, he has great determination. 

"Lloyd?" [Name] removes her hand from Nya and puts it on his head. She did not notice that Lloyd immediately relaxed and moved closer to her. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah," he replies in a whisper.  

"Was it a bad one?" [Name] runs her hands through his blond curls, Lloyd’s ear twitching in slight relief. It was so bad. The dream was so bad. So so bad. And so scary too. He knows that the world rests in his hands. He does not need to be reminded. At least not every night. 

"Yeah," 

[Name] looks up at her friends who all give Lloyd looks of concern. His nightmares and visions are common. But they are never beneficial. And tea does not help as much as Wu thinks it does. 

"Do you want me to dreamwalk?" [Name] suggests, Lloyd lifting his head slightly. His green eyes meet hers as he looks up through his eyelashes. 

"I don’t want to be-"

"I can do it," she interrupts. "Honestly, it’s no big deal," It is a huge deal. [Name] has not dreamwalked into Lloyd’s dream since the first time. 

"A-are you sure?" What if he dreams about her whilst she’s in his dream? Does that happen? What if-

"Yes, I am sure," [Name] nods. "It will be fine. So easy,"

You gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Not to most people. But I’ve seen you when you’re... composed. And this isn’t it.”

His fingers curled loosely around the coffee cup, but he didn’t lift it right away. “You’re observant.”

“I run a café. People tell me things with their faces more than their words,” you said, watching him. 

Rintarou was silent for a moment. His gaze dropped to the steam curling up from his cup, and something unreadable passed over his face— almost weariness.

“I just… wanted to check,” you added gently, as if afraid you might have overstepped. “If there’s anything I can do. Or if you just want to talk. Or even if you don’t want to say anything at all—I’m here ‘till closing.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And in his eyes, there was something raw beneath all that restraint. He gave a short, humorless breath through his nose. “No, I’m alright.” he said, then softer, “but thank you.”

There was something tender in his voice when he said that—like the act of offering had meant more than your words. He finally brought the coffee to his lips, sipping it slowly. You didn’t push, just stood there with him for a moment in comfortable silence.

That night, you sat alone in your quiet apartment, troubled by the image of him. Your ability was a rare one. You could enter and influence dreams, as long as you knew someone’s name. And Rintarou Mori—you knew his name. You had never used your ability without telling someone. But this felt... different. He looked like he needed rest more than anything else. You only wanted to help.

So you closed your eyes, whispered his name, and fell into sleep.

The dream was a suffocating void, alive with pain and regret.

You found yourself in a makeshift field hospital, the air thick with antiseptic and screams. Young Rintarou—his once-crisp white coat stained by sweat and mud—raced between bloodied stretchers. He’d been a war doctor first, stitching wounds and administering morphine under relentless shellfire. Here, his hands shook as he tried to save soldiers he’d never know again.

Then the scene blurred, shifting to a dingy back-alley clinic, flickering lanterns casting half-shadows. He’d worked there next, an underground doctor tending to the city’s worst and desperate. His coat hung heavier, the fabric threadbare, but his eyes burned with quiet determination as he patched bullet wounds by candlelight.

Finally, the memory twisted, hard and sharp, dragging you into the dim, echoing halls of the Port Mafia’s headquarters. The air was cold, still, and heavy with finality. There, in the shadows of power, Rintarou knelt beside a frail figure collapsed on a silk-draped bed—his predecessor, the old boss. The man’s hair was ghost-white, slick with sweat, his breath shallow and rattling like wind through cracked glass.

You watched, heart tight, as the old man’s eyes snapped open. His voice came in a fevered whisper, slurred and manic: “Kill them… kill them all…”

And Rintarou—his expression unreadable, his face like carved porcelain—leaned in close. With steady, surgical precision, he withdrew a blade. Not a weapon of war, but a surgeon’s knife—sterile, deliberate, clinical.

Without a word, he drew it across the old man’s throat.

The blood was quick and silent, soaking into the sheets like ink. There was no cruelty in the act. No pleasure. Only cold necessity—and a trace of sorrow so deeply buried it almost went unnoticed. The boss’s last breath rattled like a judge’s gavel.

You stepped forward, the memory still settling around him like ash. The air was heavy with blood and silence—too many silences. The soldiers he couldn’t save. The desperate voices from that backroom clinic. The soft, wet sound of a throat being opened by his own hand.

They flickered in and out of focus—ghosts circling him, bound not by malice, but by memory. And Rintarou knelt at the center of it all, unmoving. Not resisting. Just… enduring. Shoulders stiff. Eyes blank. A man who had learned to carry his sins in silence because he thought no one else should have to.

You knelt beside him, your presence a ripple in the stillness. One hand reached out, brushing his sleeve—just enough. Not to erase what had happened, but to offer something else.

With the faintest pulse of your ability, the scene around you began to bend and soften. The dark walls of the Mafia’s inner sanctum melted away, brick by brick, and were replaced by open sky. Cold stone gave way to soft grass. The air warmed. Light returned.

And yet… he didn’t move.

Even in the dawn you offered, Rintarou sat frozen—jaw tight, fists clenched in his lap, as if terrified that letting go of the past would dishonor the dead he carried with him.

You looked at him, truly looked. Not as a doctor. Not as a killer. But as a man who’d lived through more than anyone should—and survived it alone.

And for the first time, in the quiet hum of his dream, you whispered, “You don’t have to keep reliving it to prove you remember.”

He didn’t answer, but his breath hitched—just once. And in that stillness, you saw it:

He heard you.

The next morning, Rintarou arrived alone.

No Elise. No usual easy pretense. Just him—standing in the doorway of your café with shadows under his eyes and something heavier in the set of his shoulders. The morning sun lit the edges of his worn coat, and though his hair was still tousled and a faint stubble clung to his jaw, there was nothing unkempt about the look in his eyes.

Sharp. Direct. Measured.

You met him behind the counter, offering his coffee without a word. But he didn’t take it right away.

“You,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving yours, “were in my dream.”

You stilled.

His tone wasn’t angry. Not quite. But it carried a weight that settled in the space between you like a blade laid gently on a table.

“I don’t remember everything,” he continued, tone calm but direct, “but I know enough. You changed it. You saw it. You saw me.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to invade your mind, I swear. I didn’t even know—at first—that it was that kind of dream. You looked so… tired. I just wanted to help.”

Rintarou studied you in silence, his expression unreadable.

“You went where no one’s ever been,” he said finally. “My memories. My regrets. You saw what I did. What I became.”

“I did,” you said. “And I’m still treating you the same. Still here. That should tell you everything.”

His jaw tightened, like he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or ashamed. “You saw me kill him.”

You nodded. 

A pause.

A beat.

“My real name is Ougai Mori. Rintarou is just what Elise likes to call me.”

There it was. Clear. Direct. A confession offered not with pride, but with unflinching honesty.

The words hung between you like a blade suspended mid-air.

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to match this quiet man—this gentle regular with worn sleeves and a sweet tooth for Elise’s sake—to the shadowed title that made the underworld tremble. And yet... it wasn’t hard. Because you had already seen what others hadn’t: the surgeon’s precision, the commander’s burden, the man beneath the weight.

You exhaled slowly. “So that’s the name behind the nightmares.”

You stared at him, the words settling between you like smoke that didn’t quite sting. It should have frightened you. It should have driven you back. But instead, you stepped closer—barely noticeable, just a shift in breath, in presence.

“…I figured it was something like that,” you said softly, voice steady. “After everything I saw… the weight you carry, the things you’ve done—yes, I know who you are now. But it doesn’t change what I see when I look at you.”

You stepped around the counter and walked up to him. Close enough that you could see the worry he almost—almost—managed to hide.

“You didn’t become a monster,” you said, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “You became a man carrying more than anyone should have to. You made choices that no one else wanted to make. I’m not going anywhere.”

A long silence passed. He looked at you, really looked at you, with those dark eyes that had seen far too much. And for a moment, something softened in them—something fragile and human and achingly real.

“I should have walked away from this place the moment I realized what I was beginning to feel,” he said, voice low. “But I couldn’t. I told myself it was for Elise. For the quiet. The coffee.”

He smiled faintly. A sad, small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “But it was always you.”

Your breath caught.

“I stay because you make me forget,” he continued, “just for a little while… what I’ve done. What I am. You remind me that there’s still something gentle left in me.”

You reached out then, fingers brushing his coat sleeve before taking his hand completely. It was warm. Solid. Hesitant.

“I don’t want you to forget,” you whispered. “I want you to remember—and still believe there’s something worth holding onto. Something good. Something soft.”

His fingers curled around yours.

“…You make me want things I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve.”

“Then let yourself have them,” you said, voice a little shaky. “Let yourself have this.”

A silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was full of something softer. Something waiting.

And then, without another word, he leaned in—tentative, careful, like he was giving you every chance to step away.

You didn’t.

You closed the distance, pressing your forehead to his, your hand still wrapped in his. There was no rush. No urgency. Just the quiet bloom of something long overdue.

When you finally pulled back, he was smiling—not the sharp, practiced smile you’d seen so many times, but something smaller. Warmer. Real.

“I’d like to stay,” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “If you’ll have me.”

You smiled, heart thudding in your chest.

“Always.”

He finally took his coffee.

And stayed all morning.