Earthbound

Earthbound

earthbound definition: attached or restricted to the earth.

In which Cole stands up to a tyrant that is cruel and unjust deep within the mountain. Because he made a promise.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Cole’s losing.

The cave is in chaos; the sound of screams and clanging weapons fill the air as two sides clash against each other.

Vangelis and the Skull are toying with him, and he knows it: they’re circling him, trying to throw him off by telling lies about his mother. Cole blocks the hits from Vangelis and the blasts from the Skull, feeling like a fly they were winding up in a web of lies.

Vangelis rises above him, resembling a winged creature of death with his blank mask and the glowing Skull of Hazza D’ur in hand. “And now, her deceit has doomed you!”

“Her only son,” the Skull rasps.

Vangelis hurls the Skull at Cole; growing brighter and brighter the closer it gets. He stands his ground and braces himself.

The Skull collides, and the blades …

… shatter.

Cole is thrown back, the air knocked out of his lungs as his body rolls to a stop. He sits up weakly, before throwing back his mask to gasp at the sight of the broken Blades of Deliverance.

“No!” He cries. With trembling fingers, his gloved hands hold onto the shattered pieces of the black and white blades. “It can’t be …”

His mother … lied …

“It is,” Vangelis glides towards him menacingly. “And now, you will pay the price for your mother’s lies.”

“Lies, deceit,” the Skull rasps.

Cole screams in pain as the Skull unleashes fire upon his fallen form.

“Your cause is lost.”

More fire.

“Have the grace to admit defeat.”

More fire. More, more. Blistering pain wreaks havoc across his broken body.

It’s hopeless. He’s finished. He’s too weak. It’s over. He just wants to —

He remembers his mother.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

“I want you to promise me, Cole. That you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always.”

“Always.”

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

His mother … her strength hadn’t come from the Blades of Deliverance. She’s always been strong. She had been sick all his life, yet no matter how weak her body had gotten she had moved through her life with implacable momentum. Impossible to sway or dissuade. Ever since he was young, his mom had power — from her beliefs … and from the Earth.

“It was her,” he realizes. “It wasn't the blades. It was her. The power inside my mother.” The power inside of me, his heart whispers. Not the Spinjitzu Burst. The power of Earth.

“It was all her.”

“Alas,” Vangelis laughs cruelly. “You are not half the warrior your mother was.”

Pain and grief bite through his being, but Cole forces himself to his feet to glare at the Skull Sorcerer. “Maybe not, but I am her son.” Conviction buries itself deep into his being. “And I made her a promise to stand up to tyrants like you! Always!”

The mountain rumbles its agreement. Cole digs his fingers into the rock and feels it mold around the shape of them. Every grain of earth begins to glow as his power seeps into it.

“What are you doing? What is this!” The Skull Sorcerer demands.

“It's the Burst!” He barely hears Master Wu cry above his roaring element.

But no. It's not, and Cole can feel it. It's something different. Deeper.

His power was strongest when he was the closest to the earth and he’s never been farther underground. He was basically at the bottom of the world. Never has he been more surrounded by the very thing that powered him. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying him — but what if bringing him closer to his full strength? To the source of his elemental power?

Cole could feel it — the connection to the earth. He could feel it reaching out towards him, coming from the ground all around him.

He stands and lets it in. He let the energy of the earth infuse him, deep into his core and surging forward. The Skull of Hazza D’ur comes flying forward to finish him off and Cole bursts to life.

Unparalleled power explodes from the earth, bright and blinding, and Cole feels more alive than ever. His skin disappears, being replaced with magma and rock as the mountain quakes under his force.

The battle halts as everyone stops at the sheer force of the Earth; Ninja gape in shock, the Shintarians fly back in fear, the cave-dwellers stare with awe.

“Son of Lilly,” the Geckle and Munce whisper.

Cole rises with the power of the Earth; the Skull spiraling, lost, as he reaches for it with a molten hand and throws it down against the Earth. Destroying it.

The battle — one that had been reigning in secret for decades — is finally over.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

Vania dips her head as the last servant that has finished attending her and shuts the door.

She takes a deep breath, listening to the fading footsteps of the servant and the guards clanking armor move away.

Then she springs into action.

She quickly changes, flying out of her normal, queenly wardrobe into more plain, neutral robes. She glances at Chompy, who’s watching her from his bed. She touches the dragon’s head.

“I’ll be back before morning — promise,” she whispers. He makes a chattering noise, telling her he’s displeased. “I know! I will, I promise. I just …” she bites her lip. “I just can’t leave him alone down there.”

Maybe Chompy can hear the pain in her voice, because he doesn’t argue — simply pushes his head into her hand with a small chur of forgiveness.

Vania pushes past the grief and stands, lighting a candle before leaving. She sneaks through her own palace silently, moving past guards like a ninja as she heads for the gardens.

She makes her way to the entrance of the garden alcove leading into the mountain, her heart steadily beating harder. The caves beneath the mountain were deserted, with the Geckle and Munce people deciding that they wanted to live their new lives above the mountain.

She scurries down; down and down the winding mountain, past cramped caverns and twisting turns, the cloying darkness only fought off by a single flame.

Finally she reaches it.

The Heart of the Mountain.

The legendary temple for the Masters of Earth. Ancient scriptures written in the Old Tongue read: Let pass through here, into this refuge and sanctuary, only those who are One with the Earth. Orange flames danced off the walls, even though no one had been down here to light them. Power shined through the giant doorway as Vania drew nearer.

Creak …

The door opened slightly.

Vania went inside, following the carved path molded by Geckle and Munce. Statues of ancient Earth Masters and their stories echoes around her, and she ignores the familiar goosebumps that rise along her skin. Her eyes linger on the statue of Lilly, before moving on.

Statues are more than solid pieces of art. They are immovable, unbreakable monuments that enrich storytelling, making the experience of living more profound and unforgettable. They remind us of the strength of traditions, the power of history, and the enduring spirit that echoes throughout the ages.

She draws closer to the one standing in the middle, heart beating loudly in her chest. It's tall and strong, newly carved. Awake and glowing with the surging elemental energy. She reads the plaque in front of it.

This statue was carved with love and gratitude by Geckle, Munce, and Shintarian craftsmen in honor of Cole Brookstone: Ninja, brother, and son.

Vania places the candle on the stone ledge and takes a seat on it, facing away from the statue. It feels like yesterday she was trapped in here with the Upply and Master Wu, trying to figure out a way to stop her father. She forces the memories away when she feels the mountain move.

“Hello, Cole,” she says softly. The Earth rumbles under her feet, before slowly forming and making a vague shape of the person she used to know. Orange light shines through the cracks of rock as he peers at her curiously, waiting.

Vania smiles.

“So, what story would you like to hear today?”

Bury Me After I Fall

A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain. They don't know if they jumped or not.

Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in between.

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

Chapter inspired by "i used to have nothing and then" by dirgewithoutmusic

"This wasn't real. They were either falling, or fallen. They weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When they hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) they knew what it would cost."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You didn't know what was going on.

You didn't feel themselves hit the ground — but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing — residue from the adrenaline.

"Why are you here?"

The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I — I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"

"Why are you here?" 

"I wanted to die," You said, simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.

"Why now?" 

"Because I wanted to."

The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"

You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."

Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.

You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.

Again. You knew this place. You’ve been here before. You grew up here.

You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.

"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life." 

You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.

"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."

You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."

The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"

"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.

The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."

"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am. I cried when I found out."

"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.

This wasn't real.

The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms. 

Your dads always caught you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.

You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.

You knew what would happen.

Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life." 

You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.

"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade." 

Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes. 

You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates —

You hit — your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class —

Again — your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner —

You hit the ground — it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and —

"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!" 

The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged. 

Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

"Why are you here?"

"Why now?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.

Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move — just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.

"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.

Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I — hey."

"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.

"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I — I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor — she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and —" I couldn't do it anymore. 

Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We — we blame ourselves."

Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.

"A life," your other dad rasped.

"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."

Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I — I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?" 

"I just told you — told them. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Why now?"

You didn't have an answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade. 

You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted — your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.

You hit — you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest —

You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up —

"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."

"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up — good times and bad.

Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.

Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.

"They hurt me first."

"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."

"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.

"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."

"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But —"

Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.

"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time." 

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.

Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.

A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.

A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.

Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.

Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump. 

"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."

"Do you want to die?" 

"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."

The voice paused, considered.

"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."

"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice." 

"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents —" you trembled.

"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."

That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just —" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."

The voice pauses, considering.

You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bros before Hoes

In which Duncan happens to find his neighbor cute, and his idiot roommates throw him a party because of it.

(AKA: The bros who drink together, sleep together)

Inspired by PPG/RRB fic on ao3

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

On a list of things Duncan would like to wake up to (women on the top, cops on the bottom), this is not it. Heck, this probably wouldn’t even be on the list. 

And by this, he means the completely trashed apartment littered with beer bottles, overflowing trash, and very questionable stains on the walls. Not to mention the dead bodies currently scattered around the living room.

Wait, not dead bodies, but Duncan can only wish.

How was this possible? He went to sleep at, like, ten last night and if he wasn’t mistaken, he had gone to bed while the house was quiet and the only people home were Geoff and DJ. So how the hell were there more than a dozen people in the living room and why did it look like an absolute shit show?

A groan emerges from the couch before a blonde head appears in sight. “Oh,” Geoff says when he sees Duncan standing there. “Sup, dude?”

“What— ” Duncan takes a breath. “ —THE ACTUAL FUCK HAPPENED HERE?!”

Geoff winces and raises a hand to rub his head. “Ouch, not so loud. I have a headache.” He whined.

So did Duncan. “What. Happened. Here.” Duncan narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice dangerously. Geoff laughs awkwardly and avoids his eyes.

“Oh, well, we sorta … kinda … uh,” Geoff gestures vaguely at the apartment. “... had a party?”

Duncan honestly doesn’t know how he could be surprised. This is what he gets for rooming with Geoff.

“How?!” He yells at him. Duncan wasn’t a really light sleeper, but he’s pretty sure he would’ve heard a party going on downstairs. “What time did these people get here!? How did I sleep through a fucking party?”

“Yeah … about that,” Geoff laughs nervously. “We sorta had a kickback last night but we knew you were asleep so we didn’t want to wake you up. Somehow, it became a game of ‘how quiet can this party be so Duncan doesn’t wake up' and we lasted the whole night! You didn’t wake up at all! Everyone was whispering and we had music playing at the lowest volume, and it was actually really fun. Super weird, but fun.”

Duncan is almost impressed. Almost. Trust Geoff to make a quiet party fun. “I’m not helping you clean up,” he informs him. He eyes a body on the floor that turns out to be DJ, cuddling an empty beer bottle while completely unconscious. 

“Aww, dude!” Geoff whines, “I hate cleaning! Come on, we kept it quiet for you!”

Duncan takes another look around the room and begrudgingly admits that it is kinda amazing that they managed to have a party without him waking up. It’s actually a little sweet that they took him into consideration. But still, fuck them.

“No.”

“Duncaaan,” Geoff groans, throwing his upper body off the couch. “C’mon, bro! Please? Dunky? Dunk-man?”

“Don’t call me that!” Duncan yells as he grabs his gym bag. “And this place better be spotless by the time I get back!”

He slams the door and a satisfied smile grows on his face as Geoff’s protests are cut off. Duncan turns to head down the hallway and nearly crashes with someone who lets out a high pitched squeal.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Duncan looks down and— oh hell, it’s her. Of all the people in the apartment for him to run into, why does it have to be her? Granted, she did live next to him— but still, why?

Wide brown eyes peer up at him and her head cocks slightly to the side as she blinks. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Huh?” He’s so close to her he can see the smattering of freckles on her nose. 

“Oh! Sorry, I just mean I see you around a lot because you’re my neighbor,” she stumbles, cheeks turning a little pink.

“Oh,” he says a bit more gruffly than he should. He tries his hardest not to check her out and fails. She must’ve just come back from a jog — her short brown hair is tied back and she’s wearing tiny gray shorts and a matching crop top.

“Are you going to the gym right now?” She asks, taking note of the gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Duncan grunts, staring at the staircase behind her. He will not be weakened by a tight fitting tank top, he will not. “I go early to avoid people, I hate crowded gyms.”

She makes a noise of understanding. There’s a beat of awkward silence, where she looks as uncomfortable as he feels before she sticks out her hand. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I ever got your name.” She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Duncan’s eyes follow it, wondering why the hell he thought the little action was so cute.  

“Duncan,” he shakes her hand, hyper aware of how soft and small her hand is as his big and callus ones swallow hers. 

“Courtney,” she dimples and Duncan’s stupid heart skips a beat. “Well, have fun!” She smiles cheerily at him and Duncan can’t take his eyes off of her. What the fuck.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he walks past her. He catches a glance of her as she opens the door to her own apartment. Damn it, she has a nice ass.

Duncan contemplates throwing himself down the stairs before he decides against it. 

It’s a waste, he figures. One flight won’t really do any damage.

***

By the time Duncan makes it home it’s evening. Stopping in front of his door, Duncan narrows his eyes as he hears muffled voices inside the apartment. Either Geoff and DJ actually cleaned the place or he’s about to open the door to the same shitshow as this morning. 

For their sake, he hopes the former.

He pushes the door open and the apartment abruptly falls quiet. The two occupants have frozen in fear, staring at the door with varying degrees of terror. DJ is cowering behind Geoff, who isn’t making a very suitable defense seeing as he too, is shielding away. Duncan’s eyes flit between them and he’s pleased to see a cleaning device in each of their hands.

The apartment isn’t exactly clean, but it’s not a complete mess anymore. At least they’re trying, he has to give them that.

“O-Oh hey man, you’re back,” Geoff coughs, hugging a broom to his chest. “We were cleaning, I swear!”

“I can see that,” he grunts, closing the door. “Sup, Malibu?” He greets the other occupant in his apartment. 

Bridgette is sitting by the counter, skimming through a surf magazine while stroking DJ’s pet, Bunny. She looks up with calm green eyes and gives him an easy smile. “Hey Duncan,” she says. 

“What happened to being clean by the time I got back?” Duncan asks his roommates pointedly.

“Cut us some slack man, we didn’t really wake up until Bridgette got here,” DJ says from his spot by the sink. 

Duncan ignores him with a roll of his eyes, plopping down across from Bridgette. Bunny hops over to him curiously and Duncan sets him with a glare. Yeah, he might have gotten DJ his pet after Geoff and Bridgette might’ve killed his last one (Geoff kept insisting it was lost while Bridgette said it was eaten by a snake that was eaten by a hawk or something), but that didn’t mean he wanted that thing closer to him. 

Duncan didn’t do cute things. 

So lost in his (one-sided) glaring contest, Duncan didn’t notice the change in conversation until too late. 

“Oh yeah, who’s that cute girl by the way?” Geoff asks. “You know, the one who lives next to us?”

“Oh, you mean Courtney? Short brown hair, cute smile?"

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly Duncan perks up, and from the corner of his eye he can see Bridgette give him a knowing glance. Duncan scowls warningly. Out of the four of them, only Malibu knows about his little problem— and Duncan would like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

Except the thing is, he forgets how much Bridgette likes a good romance. “Oh yeah! The girl that Duncan likes, right?"

The reaction is instantaneous.

“What?! Bro, you have a crush? No way!”

“Why didn’t you tell us? My boy’s growin’ up!”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Duncan roars and Bunny leaps back in shock. 

Bridgette just grins and flips through another page of her magazine. Duncan is tempted to crumble it up. “Oh, you didn’t know?” She says casually. “He met her a few weeks ago and it was like love at first sight.”

It was not.

“You should’ve seen him! She stopped by to say hi, he said ‘nice to meet you’ and when she left he couldn’t get a word out for the next ten minutes. He just gawked at her, although, I guess I can’t blame him. She was cute.”

He did not.

“I’ve never seen him look so lost before, it was kinda adorable. I think he was blushing.”

He was not.

“Bro, I don’t think you’ve ever had a crush before, have you?” DJ asks.

“How would you know!" He shoots back indignantly.

DJ shrugs, unaffected by the rage that’s coming off of him in waves. “I dunno man, I’ve just never seen you show any real interest in anyone before."

Duncan is momentarily struck dumb. Shit, was DJ right? He’s had crushes, right? This isn’t so special. Of course he’s had his fair share of girls, dicked around with them like any other guy— but those had only been short flings, chicks he’d pick up in bars and fool around with until he was no longer interested. Has he never really had a crush before?

Geoff, thankfully, interrupts his spiraling thought process and slings an arm around his neck. “Dudes, you know what we should do?” He grins. “Let’s celebrate!” 

“Hell no!” Duncan shoves him away. “What are we even celebrating for?”

“Your first crush, dude!” Geoff beams and Duncan is this close to strangling the happy-dumb look off his face.

“It’s not a crush!” He yells.

“C’mon man, it’s Saturday,” DJ says. He even pulls out his puppy eyes, as if his sparkling round orbs are going to convince him. “What are you even gonna do today anyway, huh?”

Duncan grimaces and can feel himself actually give the idea some consideration. Why is he considering it again?

“We’ll get your favorites,” DJ adds. “It’s your party after all. You get to call the shots.”

Duncan winces. He takes a look around the room and sees their stupid faces beaming with excited grins. 

Duncan sighs. “Fine.”

***

One pack of beer, two bags of chips, and three pizzas later, and everyone is absolutely smashed. 

It’s at this point Duncan can say with complete confidence that he fucking loves his best friends. Sure, DJ can’t swim without a floaty and always listens to his mama and Geoff is way too happy and loud and can’t go a day without making out with Bridgette, but man, they’re just, like, such good people.

 Like, he just loves the fucking hell out of them. They’re the best guys out there, and have been with his shitty self since high school.  Duncan doesn’t know why he spent so long denying that they were friends— he wishes he could beat his younger punk-ass self for all the dumb things he said back then.

If only there was some way he could express how he felt.

“Hey, I fucking hate you guys,” Duncan says earnestly. “But, like, in the best way.”

They groan in acknowledgment and Duncan closes his eyes.

Girls are dumb. Feelings are dumb. Everything is dumb, but he doesn’t even care anymore. Why? Because he’s got his boys by him, and Duncan would fight the whole fucking world for them.

Yeah.

***

Duncan wakes up to something soft and fluffy smothering him. Fur is in his mouth, and he is suffocating on it because his head is pounding and he doesn't have the strength to pull away. 

Duncan groans, agonized as the fluffy thing slides off his face. He squints to see Bunny, furry butt in his face as it cuddles against him. You better not have pooped in my bed, Duncan doesn’t have the strength to threaten aloud. His mouth is tacky and his eyes are crusty and Duncan would very much like to wake up when the next century has passed, thanks. 

Duncan lets out an annoyed grumble and tosses the covers from his body. He’s about to roll over to the ground to do his push-ups (a habit he’s had since juvie) when he notices two things.

One: the sheer amount of nausea he feels. Duncan almost throws up if it weren’t for the deep breaths Malibu taught him to calm himself. Oh God, he’s definitely listening to her more when she goes on about him and the guys consuming poison. Hangovers are hell.

Two: the suspiciously familiar cowboy hat. 

“What the fuck?!”

His hoarse yell makes the other occupant in his bed jerk awake. “Man, keep it down,” DJ says. His bandana is twisted backwards. “It’s too early.” A hand appears to shove him back into bed.

Duncan is tempted to smack him away, but that requires effort and energy. None of which he has right now. He settles for a weak shove as DJ snuggles him like he would Bunny. Curse him and his incessant need for cuddling. “Why the fuck are you in my bed?”

Another groan sounds by his feet. Geoff yawns and rubs his eyes, lifting his head to look at them. He looks stupid without his ever-present hat on (he looks stupid with it on anyway) and is curled up like a puppy at the foot of the bed. Duncan is struck with the urge to kick him off before he decides that’s too cruel.

“Don’t you remember?” Geoff asks. “We all came in here to talk about our feelings.”

Duncan stares at him in disbelief. “No we did not.”

“Yeah we did, and it was magical,” Geoff responds, voice muffled as he buries his face into the pillow. “You wouldn’t shut up about the girl who lives next door.”

“Courtney,” DJ supplies helpfully.

Duncan stares in mute horror. How drunk did he get last night? He talked about feelings? And girls?

Who even is he?

“It’s okay Duncan. Mama always says that the more you deny the bigger the feelings are. You can keep pretending you’re not a softie. It’ll come out someday.” DJ pats his head, like Duncan’s green mohawk is supposed to be Geoff’s idiotic blonde mop. 

Duncan almost tells him to fuck off, but bites his tongue because DJ is too sensitive to be told that. Instead, he says, “And doesn’t your Mama say to never drink?” DJ reaches a hand out to cover his face and shoves him back down into his pillow. 

Wow, the bed feels amazing.

DJ tries to pet him like he would Bunny — all gentle and reassuring — but the big guy’s hand feels like a meaty deadweight hitting his face over and over again.

“I hate you guys,” Duncan mutters, shoving his hand away.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Geoff yawns. It sounds like he’s going back to sleep. That actually sounds like a pretty nice idea.

“You guys better get out,” Duncan grunts, feeling his eyelids grow heavy, “I’m warning you.” He lets himself sink deeper into his pillow. “Leave or die,” he mutters, eyes closing. The last thing he hears is Geoff’s quiet snoring.

They don’t leave, and Duncan sleeps peacefully.

So … is he?

[I thought of this while showering at midnight, then wrote the whole thing in the next three hours on a school night.]

You're really gonna tell me they don't have the same eyes?

***

It always started as a question before it snowballs into something more.

“Dayeon, can we ask you a question?”

Dayeon turned to see 008 and 018 standing behind her. She smiled, trying to seem as open and friendly as possible. The Numbers were nice to her — intimidating in general — but indifferent to her mostly. They mostly kept to themselves and didn’t approach her often, but when they did she tried to be as genuine as possible. Ijin saw them as family and trusted them, so that meant Dayeon cared about them too.

“Yeah, what is it?” She asked 008, who was the one who spoke first.

The man — giant really, because Dayeon had to crane her head all the way up to look at him — shifted his feet, appearing oddly uncomfortable. 018 crossed his arms, defensive and avoiding her eyes.

“Well, 018 and I were discussing about 001 and his normal life — how he’s interacting with normal people his own age and —”

“Oh my God,” 018 interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We wanted to ask, is he gay?”

Dayeon choked and did a double-take. “What? No, he’s not. Why would you say that?”

“Because he has girls literally hanging off him and he doesn’t even notice! No guy would ever act like that unless he’s gay.”

“He’s not gay, just oblivious! This is the first time that he’s interacting with normal girls his age — he’s totally clueless when it comes to romance!” Dayeon argues back.

“Are you sure? Even if he’s oblivious he’s sure to pick up the cues of a girl liking him. He was literally trained to read body language,” 018 pointed out.

Dayeon pauses; that was actually a good point. She thought of all the times Yeona’s crush was painfully obvious. Was Ijin actually oblivious, or was he faking it? “Still, it's not like there were any girls that were interested in him back in the Camp for him to pick up signs; he was nine years old and all he was focused on was surviving.”

“Yeah, but so was 032 and he still —” 008 smacked 018 and he quickly stopped talking.

“What are you talking about?” 016 materialized behind her and Dayeon jumped; she didn’t even hear him coming.

“We’re asking her if 001 is gay,” 018 interjects bluntly before she can open her mouth.

“Is he?” 016 raised a brow. “I mean, it would certainly explain why he doesn’t notice all those girls.”

“Thank you,” 018 guestured to 016 empathetically.

“No, he’s not!” Dayeon said. “He’s shown no interest in guys!”

“If 001 has all those pretty girls hanging off of him and doesn’t have a girlfriend by now then he really is gay. Even if he’s oblivious he would notice someone taking an interest in him.” 016 pointed out.

“That’s because he isn’t even interested in romance. He’s more focused on his family and living his normal life. Besides, he isn’t really … emotionally available, if you know what I mean.” Dayeon winced, trying to phrase Ijin’s decade of trauma as delicately as possible.

“Oh, but 032 is?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” 016 dismissed immediately.

“Alright then. If you want to know so bad, I’ll just ask him myself,” Dayeon said. She turned around and scanned the area, taking note of where everyone was. 002 was off to the side restocking the supplies while 004 was beside him, cleaning his knife. 006 and 032 were settled down across the camp having lunch. She spotted her brother on the other side of the clearing.

Dayeon walked up to Ijin, who was busy organizing his guns.

“Ijin, can I ask you a question?” She asked, adopting an innocent expression. Her brother looked up before smiling that small, sweet genuine smile he always saved for her. For a moment, Dayeon almost felt a bit guilty before she shoved it away.

“Of course. What is it?”

Dayeon plopped to the ground beside him before taking a deep breath and saying —

“Ijin, are you gay?”

On the other side of the clearing, 006 spat out his drink.

“W-What?” Ijin looked startled at the question.

“Are you gay?” Dayeon repeated calmly. Vaguely, she can hear the sounds of 032 choking on his food and the thwack, thwack, thwack, of 006 smacking his back to clear his throat.

“N-No …?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes …?”

“Alright! Just wanted to know!” Dayeon said brightly before kissing his cheek and walking away. She could feel the eyes of all the other Numbers burning into her back and she tosses the group of 008, 018, and 016 a sweet, victorious smirk before heading to find 005.

She would find this hilarious.

Pirate Jaya AU

Summary: There are three things Jay Walker knows right now in this point of his life. Number one: He hates pirates. Trapped on Nadakhan’s ship for a year, he has had enough of them for a lifetime. Number two: He is going to escape. Sure, his plans to do so are ducktaped together by adrenaline and hope, but come hell or high water Jay is going home. Number three: Jay has inadvertently caught the attention of another pirate crew with powers, a crazy old man, and the most beautiful and fierce pirate woman in the Endless Sea. He is so hooped right now.

Tags: Mentions of Abuse, Kidnapping, Hints of Trauma, Sexy/Badass Nya, “If-I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-be-cool-doing-it” Jay

Inspired by the-modern-typewriter

***

His ears are ringing and the sunlight is blinding his eye, but he’s still able to make out Monkey Wretch’s screaming, Flintlocke barking out orders, and Dogshank’s heavy footsteps.

Jay sits up, dazed. He’s aware of something wet dripping down from his eyebrow, and his chest is still gasping from the shock of having his breath knocked out. Still, he staggers to his feet and looks around.

Clancee is beside himself, panicking; Monkey Wretch is leaping back and forth from the sails, screeching; Flintlocke is firing shot after shot with his pistols; and Dogshank and Doubloon are busy fighting. The rest of the pirate crew are scrambling to either fight or run from the chaos of the raid.

Well, raid is a more generous term. The word was massacre.

The deck of Misfortune’s Keep was splintered from the blast of cannons and spilled with the blood of pirates. The enemy ship had appeared out of thin air, only giving the crew a mere half hour to put together a proper defense before they were upon them.

Not that it mattered to Jay all that much. He is planning to escape. He does another round on the crew when he realizes: Nadakhan is nowhere to be seen. They were in the middle of a battle, where it is easy to get lost in the chaos. He can escape.

He can escape.

Jay snatches the satchel that holds his stash of food and bandages he’s been meticulously storing away before running. He has to get to the Quarter’s Deck, where the map to navigate the Endless Sea was. Without it, Jay would be lost. He’d die at sea before ever managing to reach land.

Jay leaps over broken bodies, ignoring the pain from his body. Ignores the rest of the crew as they fight for their lives. Monkey Wretch is trying to avoid a man with a metal falcon and Doubloon gets thrown back across the deck by a man with glowing arms.

Jay scrambles up the stairs, snatching the map off the desk and stuffing it in his bag. He glances at Clancee trembling behind Flintlocke and feels an ounce of pity. Clancee was the only one who was nice to Jay when he was on board — giving him extra food and bandages after rounds of Scrap n’ Tap. But still, Clancee would never leave with him. He was loyal to Nadakhan and the crew, and Jay wasn’t.

Jay runs as fast as he can — heart pounding, blood pumping, making his way to the rowboats desperately. He’s close, he’s so close to his freedom. After about a year of being captured by pirates and being their slave; he is over it. Jay yanks a bloodied sword out of a fallen pirate’s chest, nearly making it to the boats when —

He skids to a halt. There, right there between him and his freedom are two women. Dogshank — the most massive and terrifying woman Jay has ever met is throwing punches that would kill a normal man at a petite female.

The first thing Jay notices about this woman is the way she moves. Her steps are swift and steady across the bloodied deck of Misfortune’s Keep, unbothered by the rolling waves or the chaos surrounding them. It is the kind of ease which only came from having spent a significant amount of time at sea, and just as significant an amount of time with a sword in hand.

She cuts through Dogshank viciously, slicing and stabbing and not slowing down for even a second as she leaves her crumpling on the deck. This girl is fire and heat and hate woven in the shape of a human form. He watches as she mercilessly grabs the larger woman’s hair and sends her sword through her heart.

Jay is terrified. Jay is in awe.

The pirate woman whips to face him.

The second thing he notices is that she’s beautiful. Her skin is a rich tan color and her hair is night black, cut in a practical bob. She has a beauty mark under her left eye and a gaze so dark and consuming it feels like he has been swallowed by a black sea.

Jay swallows, takes a step back and tightens his grip on the sword. His heart crashes in his chest and he tells himself that it's the adrenaline that makes him shake, not the thought that this might possibly be the last day of his life.

The woman tilts her head and walks closer, making a quick assessment of him. Her lips are ruby red. But before she can do anything (like kill him) a voice rings through the violence.

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone pauses. There, emerging from the captain's quarters are two people: a blonde teenager with green eyes and an old man with steely eyes and a sharp countenance. The old man holds up a porcelain teapot in the sunlight.

“This is the Teapot of Tyrahn. A cursed artifact infused with the power to contain magical beings. The ancient markings on the side describe it's a powerful relic that can trap mortals. Your captain is now trapped in here, and you are outnumbered. Surrender the battle, or we will sink this ship — with you on it.”

While the old man is going through his speech, Jay takes the opportunity to peer closer at the teapot. It looks like an ordinary teapot, with strange inscriptions written on the side. As the old man raises it higher to the sun, Jay catches a flicker of orange reflecting inside the teapot.

No way. There is no way Nadakhan is in there. The Last Djinn, The Prince of Djinnjago, the Captain of Misfortune’s Keep — was defeated by a tiny teapot? That was all it took? Jay is gonna eat his shirt.

There’s a beat of where Flintlocke, the first mate, considers the proposal before he hesitantly lowers his guns. Every line in his face is etched with hate, but he’s smart enough to know that any more fighting would lead to his and the rest of his crew’s death.

They surrendered.

The old man makes a sharp movement with his head, and the blonde teenager begins yelling out orders to cuff the prisoners and take them to the brig.

Jay starts, panic shooting through him. How could he escape now? Nadakhan’s crew is captured, and technically, he is a part of that crew. He may be a cabin boy, but he still looks like a pirate with all the time spent in the sea and sun. He couldn’t be locked in the brig, he couldn’t.

The thing with pirates is that whenever they lose a battle the winning pirates maroon them on an island — and give them a gun with one bullet to end themselves. Jay didn’t know what fate would lay to Nadakhan’s crew, but he didn’t want to be a part of it.

Before he can take any more time (to panic), Jay feels a sharp point dig into his back. A sword. Jay grits his teeth and slowly turns around, hands raised, to see the pirate girl behind him. He didn’t even hear her coming.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Jay grumbles. The girl’s mouth quirks, ruby lips turning into a captivating half-smile. Her blade drags across his chest before hooking the strap of his satchel. A dead giveaway about what he was planning to do.

“I don’t think so. You’re a bit different from this crew. You’re meeting the captain. I’m sure he has some questions about what a runaway is doing on board.” Jay can detect a slight accent in her words, but before he can ponder about how disturbingly attractive it sounds she spins him around and begins walking him towards the old man by the wheel.

“Captain!” The girl calls, and the old man is pulled out of conversation with a man with black hair and biceps that can crush Jay. His eyes narrow as soon as he notices him, and Jay vaguely thinks that being poked with knives would feel less sharp than the way he was looking at him.

“I found this one by the rowboats. I think he was trying to escape.” The girl shoves him forward and Jay stumbles. Glancing at the old man, Jay notices how his sharp gaze seems more considerate as he strokes his beard.

“I see,” the old man says. “What is your name, boy?”

Jay keeps his head down. “Jay Walker, sir.”

“Jay Walker …” the old man smiles, and Jay feels more unsettled than he’d like. There’s something in that smile, like the old man had just realized something important with his name — like his name was a final piece of a map to some lost treasure.

“I am Wu, captain of the Destiny’s Bounty.” He introduces himself. Jay blinks in surprise when he hears the name of the other pirate’s ship.

The Destiny’s Bounty was the pirate ship of one of Nadakhan’s greatest rivals, Captain Soto. They were bitter enemies, often competing for the most gold and the title of most feared pirate in Ninjago. Lately, there had been a rumor across the seas that Soto had been overthrown and locked in Kryptarium Prison — Jay can take an educated guess and see that the rumor must’ve been true.

“This is my nephew and first mate, Lloyd —” Wu nods to the blonde teenager, “and my quartermaster, Cole.” He gestures to the man with black hair, who crossed his arms. “And the rest of my crew, Kai, Zane, and Nya.” Jay turns to see the two other crew members join them — a man with spiky hair and a man with a metal falcon.

Jay can’t do anything but nod. Why is he introducing his crew to him?

“Why are you on this ship, Jay?” Wu asks. Jay jolts — it's been so long since someone has said his name. Usually he was just called junkyard boy or cabin boy. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Jay asks. He wonders if he should lie — he doesn’t want to tell pirates anything about himself — before he decides against it. Perhaps if he told the pirates his sob story and that he wasn’t loyal they would take pity on him and let him go.

“I-I — they kidnapped me,” Jay stammers. “A year ago. I’m from the Sea of Sands, and I was just trying to sell some of my inventions at port when they took me. I’m just trying to get back home.” Jay tries to fight back the blow of aching grief whenever he thinks of his home.

Ma and Pa must be so worried — they probably thought he was dead. They worked so hard to provide for him, and Jay had just gone to port to sell his inventions to merchants. It would’ve scored big money if he managed to. Enough so that they could have meals without worry for months, and so Ma could buy whatever she wanted, and Pa could finally stop working until his hands bled. It was supposed to be for his family.

But then he got taken. Lured in by a promise, stolen because of his trust, desperate from his wish. Jay remembers Nadakhan’s silky voice, a blow from behind, and then waking up in the brig of Misfortune’s Keep miles away from land.

Captain Wu strokes his beard while staring at Jay thoughtfully. “Nadakhan took you … without you using a wish?” He asks.

Jay shifts, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of questioning. “Yes. I used two of my wishes while I was on board to escape, but he would keep twisting it until it was nothing like what I wanted. Eventually, I decided to save my third wish until I really needed it.”

Wu’s gaze sharpens impossibly at what Jay said. “You had a wish left and he still kept you on board? He never tried to get it out of you?”

Jay shakes his head. “He did try to get it out of me by manipulating and goading me.” He swallows at the thought of Nadakhan and his voice, the Scrap n’ Tap, the beatings. “But he never could.”

Wu hums and circles Jay, looking at him like he is a particular trying piece of a puzzle. After a minute he turns to his quartermaster, Cole. “Take off his shirt.”

Jay reels, positive he’s heard him wrong. “Wha —” He doesn’t even get a chance to finish his question before a hand grabs his collar and rips the front of his shirt open. At first, Jay is enraged. That was the only shirt he had, he was wearing that, who the heck did they think they were to rip that off him —

Then he hears the girl gasp behind him, sees the others gaping mouths in front of him, feels the burning eyes on his body before being hit by a wave of self-consciousness.

Oh.

His body.

It had been one week since the last Scrap n’ Tap, and his body showed it. Usually, the games went on for hours until Jay passed out and even then, the crew wouldn’t stop beating him until they got bored. Ugly bruises of all colors had bloomed across his body, a beautiful and horrific painting. Old scars littered his body — some from working in the junkyard back home, but the other, newer ones from his life with pirates. There were slash marks from knives he’d dodged, stab wounds from the ones he didn’t, and bullet shots from the few fights he’d been in.

But the worst was his back. Pale, thin lines scored across him, a lesson embedded deep into his skin and bones.

A flogging.

The first month after being on board, Misfortune’s Keep had docked at a small port off the coast of Ninjago City. Jay had ran. He ran as fast and hard as he could before being dragged back to the ship to face the captain’s fury.

Nadakhan had lashed Jay a total of twenty times, the knots from the whip digging into his skin and making the pain stronger. Even then Jay hadn’t shut up. Every smart remark and weak joke would infuriate Nadakhan more, and make him whip harder.

Jay had tried to escape over five times in the last year, and every time Nadakhan had caught him he added 10 more flogging to the additional number. So yeah, Jay’s back is a mess.

Jay feels his ears burn under the sun as the pirates take in his damaged body. He jumps when he feels a touch on his shoulder and turns to see the girl place a hand on the side of his face and stare at him with wide, beautiful dark eyes.

“Your eye,” she whispers. Her fingers slowly reach up and brush the leather of his eyepatch. “Did he do that to your eye?”

(Gleaming hook, on the floor, slashing downwards, blood, black, painpainpain —

“Believe me, aboard my ship you will break. I will make sure of it. And when that time comes I will be there so you can wish it away.”)

Jay flinches, and the girl gets her answer. She swears suddenly, violently, viciously, and the rest of the pirates look more horrified.

“Dude,” the man with the spiky hair breathes, “how are you even still alive?”

Jay ignores him and turns to the captain, who for the first time looks caught off guard. “So you can see,” Jay bites out, “I have no loyalty to this crew. I just want to go home.”

Wu drags his gaze from his bruised body before settling on his hands. Some of the light returns to his eyes and he furrows his brow. “Your hands … are covered with gloves …”

Jay feels his stomach drop out of his body. “I’m a cabin boy. I need gloves to keep my hands from bleeding from all the work.”

“Nadakhan wouldn’t keep anyone who wasn’t loyal to him on his ship if it wasn’t for a reason. Even if it were a cabin boy. And especially if they still have a wish left. He must have wanted you for something.”

Jay tries not to panic. “I told you! He kidnapped me because he wanted my inventions! I’m an inventor! He thought it could benefit his crew if he had them!”

“Show us your hands and we'll let you go,” Wu commands. Jay tightens his hands into fists and backs away, panic bubbling up.

“I-I …” I can’t, is what Jay wants to say, but that sounds too suspicious. His heart thumps in his ears and he’s suddenly aware that he’s hyperventilating. His hands. He can’t show his hands, because it was bad, it was dangerous, it — it …

Quick as an eel, the captain shoots forward and yanks off the gloves before Jay can stop him.

There were scars on his hands. But they weren’t like the ones that decorate his body — no, the pale pink scars that spread across his fingers and palms look branchlike and oddly different.

It looks like electricity had coursed through his hands.

“I knew it,” the old man says. “You are the Master of Lightning. It is your destiny to join this crew and stop the Skulkin Army.”

(Power outage. Electricity. Chaos. Screams. Uncontrollable. Dangerous.

“Jay, sweetie, you have to be careful. Not all of us can handle electricity like you can. We can get hurt. Lightning is a force of nature. It is not meant to be played. Just be careful, honey. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”)

Jay breathes. He feels knocked off kilter, cornered. The old man is staring at him with shiny eyes and looks a hundred years younger while the rest of the pirates have fallen silent.

“No, no. I don't want to be. And I won't be. I need to go back home. My parents are waiting for me.” Jay backs away, fully intending to flee and run away as fast as he can. It doesn’t matter if it’s a ship, he can run, he can escape, he can —

“Jay,” the old man implores. He avoids looking at him, instead noticing how the rest of the pirate crew is slowly circling him. Cutting off his escape. “I can help you. Everyone on this ship is an Elemental Master. I can train you to control your powers. It is dangerous for you to confine them!”

“I said no! I don’t want to be a part of your stupid destiny and join your stupid crew! I don’t want to be a pirate! I just want to go home!”

Surprisingly, the primary emotion Jay feels isn’t fear — it's anger. Jay has been trapped on the ship for a year, and had dealt with Nadakhan’s sly words and goadings and torture, and out of nowhere this strange pirate crew comes in and tell him to join their crew? Fight against the most powerful army in Ninjago? To basically ask him to die for them?

Sparks explode off Jay's fingers and for the first time he doesn’t quell it. Jay reaches down deep within himself to the writhing, electric power locked away and blasts them with lightning.

Screams and shouts are drowned out by wood ripping apart. The blonde teenager had tackled his captain out of the way and the rest of the pirates were on the floor, stunned. Jay is too, but he quickly forces himself to snap out of it and book it. To where, he doesn’t know — he just needs to get out of here. He’s had enough pirates for a lifetime.

A blast of water hits him in the back, knocking him off balance, before it surges around him. Seawater grips his legs shut, and following the line of water he sees the pirate woman holding out her hand. Controlling the water.

She is the Master of Water.

The woman drags him to her as Jay flails uselessly. Like a fish caught in a net. She swings her boot on his chest, pinning him before pulling out her cutlass against his Adam's apple.

Jay freezes. The tip is pointed almost gently against his throat, but for him to even twitch would be his doom. The girl leans down, her breath hot against Jay’s mouth. All Jay can see is her ruby lips and dark eyes. He resists the urge to swallow.

“I guess,” Nya whispers, “that you should have tried to escape earlier. That little stunt you pulled only made me all the more interested in you. And us pirates love to keep the things that are interesting to us.” She grins, mischievous and dark and so many other things at once. “You’re mine now.”

She straightens up as the others approach and lock his hands in chains, but doesn’t take her eyes off him until she is drawn into conversation with the man with spiky hair. Even still, as Jay is walked off to their ship he can still feel her gaze on him.

He feels as if he’s in a whole other realm of trouble than he was with Nadakhan. Somehow, Nya feels just as dangerous as the djinn himself.

Jay tests the lightning playing at his fingers.

Well. It’s a good thing that Jay is an expert of escaping danger as he is getting into it.

Hey so like I recently started getting into ikarishipping and I found your stuff and like???? It's so good???? I need more???? I wanted to request more fluffy hcs and stuff for them, but I totally understand if you don't wanna

listen

Ok, I know this isn’t a headcannon but I was inspired to write this little fic about them, so hope you don’t mind. This was sitting in my drafts for so long now until I finally worked up the courage to get it done.

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Dawn places the finishing touches on Piplup’s outfit, clapping appreciatively as her starter proudly strikes poses in his little cheerleader prince uniform.

“Let’s go show everyone your outfit!” Dawn picks up Piplup and beams as he chirps his agreement.

Dawn exits the room, heading out to meet Ash, Barry, and Brock to talk about the match today. It was the early morning of the Pokémon Sinnoh League, with Ash and Paul finally facing off. After a full year of battling and insults the two were about to meet in the semifinals.

Dawn makes her way down the hall, footsteps echoing. Ash against Paul … it would certainly be a battle to be remembered. It had been a long time since Lake Acuity. Since their very first battle. Ash and his team have only grown stronger since then, and so has Paul.

They all had.

“… I have one last thing to tell you,” a voice suddenly cuts across the lobby and turning around, Dawn gasps and ducks before Paul sees her.

Piplup turns around with a questioning “Pip?” and Dawn claps a hand over his beak. Piplup releases a silent squawk of rage before pecking her hand indignantly. Dawn shakes out her hand with a quiet hiss before pressing a finger to her lips and glaring in a ‘be quiet’ motion. Piplup glares right back before he settles down to eavesdrop. Dawn pokes her head over the counter to watch.

“Paul? Win this. Don’t underestimate Ash’s skill — then win the whole thing!”

Paul’s lips curve into a smile. “I will.”

Reggie hung up with a “Later, Paul,” before Paul turns around — only to meet Dawn’s startled blue eyes.

Dawn froze in embarrassment, a pink blush staining her cheeks once she realizes she’s been caught staring. Paul looks taken aback, staring at her with surprised onyx eyes.

Say something, stupid, her brain says as silence starts to creep between the two.

“Umm …” Dawn laughs nervously, and Paul turns on his heel and begins walking away. She nearly facepalmed herself. Really, that’s what she comes up with?

“That was Reggie you were talking to, right? So, is he coming here today?” Dawn hastily tries to cover up her lack of verbal skills by asking him a question, but she must’ve said the wrong thing because Paul begins walking faster.

Dawn felt stupid. Of course Reggie wasn’t coming, Paul was just on a phone call with him, and Veilstone City was too far to make it in an hour. Before she could wallow in her own self-pity, Paul spoke up.

“So, how’s he doing?” Paul practically sneers.

“Uh, you mean how’s Ash?” Dawn asks. She exchanges a questioning look with Piplup before realizing Paul is almost at the door. She runs after him. “Wait! If you ask a question, don’t you want to hear the answer?”

Dawn catches up with him, falling in a step or two behind him. The brisk morning air hits her face and clears her head. “Ash is doing some last minute training with his Pokémon. Want me to get him?”

“Please don’t. No need.”

“Why did you ask about him then?”

“ … I don’t know.”

Oh great, Dawn thinks sarcastically. Dawn realizes she’s fallen behind him and hurries to catch up.

What do we even say to each other? She thinks nervously. The awkwardness is probably one-sided as she doubts Paul cares about that sort of thing, but it’s all Dawn can think about. 

As a coordinator, Dawn prides herself on being able to entertain the audience and appeal to the judges. Her entire career depends on people’s opinions and how they view her. 

But Paul? Paul was unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking, much less feeling. 

Should she just peel off, say she forgot something? But they were walking in the same direction. Should she ask him about his Pokémon, if he was ready for his battle? But would Paul get defensive and snap at her? Would Paul even notice if she fell back and walked by herself?

“I just don’t like him,” Paul says suddenly. Dawn’s head whips up. Was Paul actually talking about his feelings? Verbally expressing how he felt? In front of her?

Dawn suddenly felt like she’s walking on a live wire. 

“He talks just like my brother. Friends, trust … my brother says those things all the time too.”

“But Paul, Ash isn’t Reggie. Ash is Ash, and that’s that.” Dawn protests.

“PAUL!”

“Hey Dawn! Paul!”

The two look up to see Barry and Ash racing towards them with bright grins on their faces.

“Look, Ash is like any other trainer I’d have to battle in the quarter-finals … and I’m going to have to beat him if I want to win the Sinnoh League.”

Dawn stares at Paul with an open mouth. Wow. She had no idea Paul felt those things — that he is even feeling things at all. She knows Ash, his nervousness for the battle manifesting in his training and his determination. But Paul is feeling things about the battle too. 

Dawn feels his determination, his strength for what is ahead. The way he speaks and how his eyes focus up ahead — past her, past Ash — as if there is more waiting for him to achieve. 

It makes Dawn realize that being the Sinnoh Champion isn’t just Ash’s dream — it was Paul’s too. The way Paul trained his Pokémon and how he let go of Chimchar — it was ruthless and wrong, but suddenly Dawn realizes it was for a purpose. Paul wasn’t power-hungry for no reason. 

Paul is ambitious and determined and focused and level. His strength to push past things and focus solely on his goal is what makes him powerful, not his Pokémon. His ambition drives him to do better and his determination is what forces him to never stop. This battle with Ash is a stepping stone to something greater, and Paul is going to do everything he can to beat him. 

And Dawn could respect that. 

*** 

Ash and Paul’s battle is as heart-pounding as Dawn expects.

She’s cheering for Ash, calling out encouragement as Piplup cheers and Brock yells. She is rooting for him because she’s his friend, and one little conversation with Paul won’t change that. 

But still, between Barry screaming in her ear and the roaring audience, a small part of her thinks she wouldn’t mind it if Paul won.