#and they have an entire warehouse across the street

[serenpedac]

Tulsi

For the prompt "Forget" of the first day of F Hauville Appreciation Week, @happyhauvillebday ^^

Words: ~1500 Rating: Gen Relationship: Female detective/Farah Hauville Warnings: None

A scent brings back memories from Farah's life in the Echo World, memories she thought she had forgotten.

Read on Ao3 here or below.

“Thank you for your help.”

One corner of Jada’s mouth curls in a smile. “Even though I couldn’t tell you anything?”

Gabi shrugs as she gets up from the chair. “No information is also information. It means we can confirm they haven’t tried to make contact here.”

“Wise words. Good luck with tracking those fae down.” Jada accompanies Gabi and Farah to the backdoor when the bell of the antique shop rings. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course, see you later, Jada,” Gabi says.

Farah only gives a subdued smile. She has been unusually quiet this entire visit. At first, Gabi thought it was because she didn’t know Jada and was giving Gabi the lead on one of her first official assignments as an agent, but as the conversation had shifted from the fae rumoured to have arrived in Wayhaven to more generic topics, Farah had remained quiet. And that is nothing like her. 

Gabi is about to ask if she’s okay when Farah halts.

Farah’s nostrils flare, her eyes growing wide. She turns to the right, where an opened door provides a glimpse into a dark room.

“Farah? Everything alright?”

Farah doesn’t seem to hear her, walking into the room as if in trance. Neatly labelled jars in various sizes are lines up against the wall, sea salt, chamomile, volcanic ash, but Farah walk past those without giving them so much as a look. Instead, she goes over to some bunches hanging from the ceiling. Herbs, Gabi realises as her eyes adjust to the gloomy room. They must be hanging there to dry. Farah reaches out a hand, nearly touching them.

“You have good taste.” At Jada’s voice, Farah snaps her hand back. A guilt-stricken look crosses her face, but Jada offers her a warm smile from her place in the doorway. “That’s tulsi, it’s one of my favourites.”

Jada’s loose clothes brush Gabi’s bare arm as she passes her to join Farah.

“Would you like—” 

“Sorry. I— I have to go.” Farah rushes out, past Gabi and through the hallway. The backdoor falls shut with a loud thud right after.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what is going on,” Gabi says. 

Jada gives her a thoughtful look. “There’s nothing to apologise for. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” She touches the tulsi that is swaying lightly. “I will keep some on hand just in case.”

She finds Farah down the street, browsing the magazines displayed in front of the general store.

“Did you see this?” She points at a glossy cover of a fashion magazine. “I just know that Nate has something exactly like this in his closet.”

“Ehm, Farah…”

Without looking away from the model on the cover, Farah continues, “Do you think he’ll let me borrow it? It’ll be too large, sure, but I can work with that. Oversized is also a cool look, don’t you agree?” 

Gabi places her hand on Farah’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Sure!” Farah’s smile falters when she meets Gabi’s eyes. “I mean, maybe not really…” Her shoulders drop as she puts the magazine back in the stand. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

Clouds chase across the sky, and Gabi draws her jacket tighter against the wind. The gusts of autumn chill don’t seem to bother Farah, who stares into the middle-distance as they walk in the direction of the forest and the warehouse. Once they reach th edge of the forest and the street turns into an unpaved path, Farah’s shoulders sag and she sighs.

“She reminded me of my mother.” Farah gestures back towards where they’d come from. “Not that my mother was like— I mean, Jada is a different person of course, but the way she spoke and just… You know, the aura she has, calm and wise and, well, you know.” 

For a moment, Gabi remains quiet. Farah talking about her mother is a rare occasion, and while a part of her wants to know everything about Farah, everything about her previous life and how she came to be who she is, it’s not hard to see how these memories hurt Farah. And hurting her is the last thing she wants. So, Gabi merely hums and brushes her hand against Farah’s. When Farah doesn’t withdraw, she takes her wind-chilled hand in hers. 

It seems to be enough, because Farah moves a little closer, until their shoulders touch, and continues talking. “And then there was the— those herbs.”

“Tulsi.”

“Yes, tulsi.” Farah says the words as if she’s tasting it on her tongue. “We didn’t call it that, but it’s the same, I think. No, I know it’s the same. She used to…” She swallows, her voice growing very quiet as she continues. “She used to make tea with it.”

“Ah.” A look to the side to try to determine what Farah may be thinking shows that she is frowning. Not at Gabi, she doesn’t think so, but at herself or maybe a memory. Gently, Gabi rubs her thumb over the back of Farah’s hand.

“No. No, that’s not it.” She shakes her head. “The thing is that I forgot. She used to have that tea all the time and I forgot what it even smelled like.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “If I could forget something like that, something she did almost every day, how much more do you think I’ll forget? How much did I already forget?”

A tear rolls down her cheek, followed by another, and something in Gabi’s chest constricts. “Ow, Farah.” 

She wraps Farah in a hug, holding her tight. Her body shaking from sobbing, Farah returns the hug, face buried against Gabi’s chest. 

Being around Farah it’s so easy to forget that she used to have another life in another world. Sure, there are glimpses here and there—small things she says or slips of tongue—but with how fully and eagerly she throws herself into living life, the fact that she never chose to be here, that she was ripped from her old life, is easily overlooked.

Running her hands up and down Farah’s back, Gabi feels tears burning in her own eyes.

What else did she have to leave behind? How many memories does she have about things and people that no one here will ever entirely understand?

Farah’s neat braids press against Gabi’s cheek. There is so much she doesn’t know and may not understand, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be here for Farah in the here and now. 

After some time, Farah’s sobbing subsides and she relaxes into Gabi with a sigh. They stay like that, Farah’s head tucked against Gabi’s neck, her breathing steadying a little more with each inhale and exhale. 

Eventually, Farah draws back. Looking at the spot where she’d been leaning against just now, she wrinkles her nose. “Sorry I ruined your jacket, babe.”

Gabi stops the soothing circles she’s been rubbing on Farah’s back to cup Farah’s tear-streaked face. “No ‘sorry’ needed for that. You can ruin my jacket whenever.” She briefly touches her lips to Farah’s forehead. “I’m here for you, Farah.”

Farah sniffles, golden eyes threaded with red and shimmering, but the hint of a smile lifts up the corners of her mouth. “Always, yeah?”

“Always.”

*~*~*~*~*

Some days later they’re sitting in Gabi’s apartment, Gabi leaning back between Farah’s legs, while outside the trees are swaying in the wind and raindrops patter against the window. Her eyes are closed, all her attention on Farah’s fingers running through her hair. With each stroke, she catches a whiff of the floral perfume Farah chose to wear. It’s bright and summery, just like her and just like the summer that is now officially over. Like a memory capsule.

“What’s it, babe?” Farah asks before Gabi even realises she has an idea.

Chewing her lip, she sits up straighter. “There’s this thing we could do, you could do.” She falls quiet. Is this really the right thing to say? What if her idea only makes things worse? Not to mention she’s unsure of how to execute her idea. But Farah gives a questioning hum, fingers carding through Gabi’s hair, waiting for her to continue. “Memories and smells are tied together very closely. A scent can trigger a certain memory, like you experienced. I was thinking you could make a collection of smells that remind you of the Echo world. That way, you can come back to them whenever you want. If you want, that is.”

For a moment, Farah stays silent and stops playing with Gabi’s hair. 

Gabi twists around so she can face her, an apology ready on her lips. She should not have been the one to bring this up. It would have been better to wait until Farah was ready and had broached it herself. But something in Farah’s expression makes her stop. Her usually bright eyes are more serious than Gabi has ever seen them, watching her with a wisdom belonging to the years she has lived, rather than the age she looks.

“I think you’re right.” She pushes aside a strand of hair from Gabi’s forehead. “Will you help me?”

Gabi exhales with relief. “Yes, I would love that.”

[officialbabayaga]

the problem with the largest bead retailer in the world being 30 minutes from my mom’s house is i love to spend so much money there

[zylev-blog]

Jazz is Special Agent Fenton of the FBI. She doesn’t go by Fenton when she’s out on a case though; she uses Nightingale. She does this because it keeps her identity secret.

Jazz is investigating a series of crimes. One of the other agents goes undercover to try and set them up in a sting operation. Things go south and now Jazz is going to Gotham to view the murder scene.

When she gets there, GCPD try to stop her at the crime scene barrier. She flashes her FBI jacket and her badge and is given access. She walks over to the police commissioner, a man named Gordon. Gordon obviously doesn’t recognize her, and neither does the vigilante with him—Batman.

“This is a closed crime scene, Miss…?” Gordon asks.

“Nightingale. FBI.” She shows Gordon her badge. “You and your men can clear out. This is our jurisdiction now.”

“We haven’t gotten approval to—“ Gordon stops, but was interrupted by an officer walking over to Gordon and whispering something in his ear. “Fine.” Gordon grumbled, and started telling his men to leave.

“You too, Spooky. I don’t need a vigilante’s help.” She waves off the man without another thought, but Batman doesn’t move. Instead, he completely ignores her and starts walking towards the crime scene. “Obviously, you didn’t hear me.” Jazz scowled. “If you don’t leave, I will remove you with force, Batman.”

Batman turns to look at her. “That isn’t how things work here, Agent Nightingale.”

“It is now.” She kept her expression neutral. “Clear out, or be removed. Your choice.”

Batman tried to look intimidating. Jazz refused to bow. The two stared each other down before Batman took another step towards the crime scene. She reacted instantly. Pulling out a taser, she placed it on his back before he could even react.

He reacted quickly, and sent three batarangs at her in rapid succession. His movements were a bit slower than normal after getting tased. She dodged two of the batarangs, and opted to catch the third in her hand. She flicked it away lazily and cracked her knuckles with a small smile. “I love it when they choose force.”

Batman didn’t react to her comment. He seemed to understand he wasn’t going to be able to get around her without a major fight. He let out an annoyed grunt and grappled away.

Three days later, they meet on the roof of an abandoned building. It seems like Batman was still on the case after all. Jazz was not happy about it. She felt that he was going to ruin the entire operation. She couldn’t trust someone to have her back if they didn’t show their face. She doesn’t let the annoyance show on her face as Batman joins her at the edge of the rooftop.

“I thought I told you to stay off my case, Batman.” She said quietly.

Batman gave a quiet grunt. If she had to put it to words, it would translate to a ‘I do what I want.’

She didn’t speak to him again, but she didn’t kick him out, either. The two didn’t speak a word as they sat for two hours, inspecting the warehouse across the street. It was nearly morning by the time Batman left. She did make sure he left, too—she watched him grapple down the street and heard the roar of the Batmobile pulling away before she breathed out a sigh of relief.

Watching the building was doing nothing. She was going to have to get closer. She was going to have to go undercover herself. The thought didn’t make her any happier, even with knowing what happened to the last agent that went undercover for this operation. She also knew that to keep her tracker on her at all times, she would need to shove it inside a place that nobody would look for it. And boy was that uncomfortable.

Two days after she met Batman did she meet Brucie Wayne for the first time. By now she had been undercover with the modeling agency for a day, and it was going well so far. She was playing her part perfectly, but it could take weeks for them to trust her enough to give her information that she needed to know.

She had been hired to be arm candy for a wealthy man in Gotham. It wasn’t Brucie, though she knew he had a few models on his arms as well. She had gotten through most of the night without incident before she ran into Brucie. Quite literally. Brucie’s champagne spilled down her dress, and she gave a mock scream of outrage.

Brucie tried to clean up her dress, but she swatted his hands away and went to the bathroom to clean up. She never noticed the tracker that Bruce put on the nape of her neck. When she came back out, she noticed her date looking for her. She rejoined him and the rest of the night went smoothly.

A month into the operation and she finally was getting some results. She had been moved from building to building more than once, but she finally got breadcrumbs for what she needed to take them down. It took her another three weeks after that to gather all of the evidence she needed.

At the final takedown, she was joined by none other than Batman. She had half-expected him to show up after she noticed the tracker on her neck six hours after it was placed. She didn’t know when she had even run into the Batman at a stuffy charity gala. She had debated crushing it, but she didn’t have backup and she figured his help was better than nothing. She still didn’t trust him, though. She made sure he knew that, too.

Bringing the tracker up to her lips, she whispered, “Don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on a lady, Batman?”

Together, she and Batman took down the traffickers. They had been using models and trafficking them all over the world to be used as sex slaves. She feels a certain satisfaction while watching everyone be escorted out in cuffs.

“Nice work.” Batman says, figure tall and dark.

She hums. “Thanks.” The silence stretches on for a few minutes before she adds in, “Thanks for having my back.”

“I thought you didn’t need a vigilante’s help?” Batman teased.

She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the teasing on his voice. She smirks and crosses her arms. “I don’t. But you’re harder to get rid of than a ghost in a net.”

Batman didn’t respond back to her, and it takes her a few moments to realize what she had said. She was of course, referencing her parents ghosthunting activities. But he didn’t even know her real name, so how would he even know what he was talking about?

“When do you leave?” Batman asked.

“After everything’s wrapped up. Why, you going to miss me?” She finally turned to look at him. She wished she could run facial recognition and figure out who was under that mask. The psychologist in her wanted to know just why a man would put on a bat mask and fight crime.

“I have a case that could use your input.” Batman deflected her question.

Was that a compliment from the Batman? His way of telling her that he trusted her opinion? Or was it an olive branch?

“Mine or the FBI’s?” She already knew the answer to his question, but she wanted him to say it.

Instead, he just grunted in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and pulled a card out of the pouch that she kept her FBI id at and handed it to him. “That’s my office phone number.” She tapped the card with her finger as he held it. “If you want my personal cell, you’ve got to earn it.”

He nodded and tucked the card into his utility belt. She could see the beginnings of a smile from Batman as he disappeared into the shadows and grappled away.

Surprisingly, it only took Batman a week to call her. She had gotten settled back into her office in DC, and had mostly forgotten about the encounter. She had to report Batman’s appearance in her report, but beyond that, she didn’t have to explain that he helped her take down the ring.

She made a flight back to Gotham the next day. Batman brought her into the Batcave and told her everything she needed to know about the case. She didn’t know where the Batcave was, as Batman had blindfolded her, but she was impressed with his initiative.

“Im not wearing that.” She glared at him with all of the venom she had—which was quite a lot.

“You can’t go out in your FBI jacket.” Batman deadpanned.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Do you think I’m a rookie?” She shook her head and gestured at the costume that the vigilante had made for her. “That doesn’t give you the right to—to—ugh! Im not your Batgirl, or Batwoman, or whatever! I came out as a consult. I don’t dress up in latex, and I don’t wear costumes!”

The costume itself was gorgeous, not that she’d ever tell Batman that. It was solid black, had a red bat on the front of it, and was fully equipped with a utility belt, knife holsters, and a taser. It had a full cowl like Batmans, along with the pointy ears on top.

“I don’t see the problem.” Batman’s voice had undertones of offense in it.

“Look.” She gestured at the costume. “Im honored, truly, that you want me to watch your back. But I’m not a vigilante. Nor will I ever be!”

She had watched what vigilantism had done to Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Valerie over the years. Sure, she’d gone out with them more than once. Without a mask. But there was something more complex about the costume sitting on the table in front of her.

“You said you were going to help.” Batman’s gruff voice got closer as he took a few steps towards her.

“And I did.” She gestured to the Batcomputer. “I already gave you my opinions of the case. I dedicated a weekend of PTO time to be here. But this is as far as my help goes.”

“What about the last operation? You owe me.”

“Owe you?!” She exclaimed, thumping her finger against his chest. “I told you to get lost. You still stuck around. You could’ve cost me the operation!”

“It worked.”

She groaned in frustration. She was close enough to him now that she could smell the faint smell of Kevlar and aftershave from him. She rubbed a hand down her face as she thought over what had happened last time she was in Gotham.

“What about all your other winged vigilantes? You had uh.. Nightwing, and Robin, right?”

“It’s only Nightwing.” Batman responded. “He’s unavailable.”

“I could’ve sworn you had a Robin, too.” She looked up at him and noticed the stiffness of his body.

“Robin has moved on.” Batman replied.

Hmm. Touchy subject. She wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t any of her buisness.

“You must be really desperate if you’re trying this hard to get me to go out in that.” She smirked.

“Things could go wrong.��� Batman said with a quiet sigh.

“Don’t they always?” She tilted her head.

“Not always.” Batman mimicked her actions, clearly studying her. “What will it take?”

“If I put that mask on,” She gestured to the table behind her, “You take yours off.”

“No.”

“Fine. Deals off, then.” She pulled her phone out and immediately started looking for flights back to DC.

“Why?” He questioned.

“I can’t trust someone who won’t tell me who they are.” She shrugged.

Batman let out a quiet growl. As he took his cowl off, he scowled. “You would know, wouldn’t you, Miss Fenton?”

“Holy shit.” Her eyes got wide.

Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

[spacedace]

Yo here have this dp x dc snippet from ages ago I forgot I wrote until I found it just now lol:

Joker had died just after sunset, when darkness had settled fully on Gotham. Beaten horribly with a blunt, metal object of sickeningly familiar description, then finally killed in the concussive force of an explosion from the various bombs the warehouse had been filled with.

It felt obvious who it had to be.

Except, of course, that Dick was looking at cctv footage and official court documents showing just how fucking impossible it was for Jason to have finally taken the clown out for good.

At the time everything had to have happened his little brother was across the city, in a public place, with official witnesses.

Official, official witnesses. They - one Margaret Tinsel - had signed their name as such, right next to their notary stamp and the date on the marriage license.

Marriage License.

Because Jay had been over at the courthouse next to city hall getting married.

Dick only found out he’d been dating Jasmine Nightingale a couple of weeks ago. He hadn’t even properly met her yet, just saw her from the roof across the street as she and Jay sat on her fire escape sharing a pint of ice cream, laughing and looking stupidly adorable and smitten with each other. And now they’re married.

How in the fuck was he going to explain this? Bruce was already spiraling on the idea that Jay had killed Joker, he’d want specific details on just how tight of an alibi Jason had for the crime. He’d want to see that proof himself.

And then he’d want to talk to Jay. Who hadn’t told any of them what the fuck was going on in his personal life. Who had very purposefully tried to keep Jasmine Nightingale - shit, no she applied for a name change, they both had, they were both Nightingale-Todd now - away from the family and their meddling.

Babs on the other end of the line seemed to share his utter loss over the situation.

“I did some digging.” She said, drawn out enough to let him know that whatever she found - while not bad - sure as shit wasn’t going to make things any easier to explain. “They’ve uh…as best I can tell, they’ve been dating for about three years now.”

Three years.

Jesus Christ. How in the hell is he going to break that news? Did he even break that news? That’s something that Jay should do.

Except Jay just got married less than two hours ago at the same time the Joker was violently - and karmically satisfyingly - murdered and there was absolutely no way that letting Bruce go over there to talk to Jay while all Batman-ed up was going to lead to anything but a fight, which means that he has to break that news or else Jay and his new wife - his wife holy fucking shit - are going to have to deal with a pissed off Batman on their honeymoon and -

“Oh.” Tim said from where he’d come to stand at Dick’s shoulder at some point during his internal freak out. “I guess they decided to do the courthouse thing after all.”

The train wreck of Dick’s thought process, at that point, entirely exploded.

[mortalityplays]

about a month back I was walking home from a union meeting with another member who lived in my direction. I automatically took my usual route, through a quiet industrial block dominated by construction and scrap yards and those single storage unit offices that are basically a metal box with a parking space. he hesitated to follow me, and then explained that he'd never taken this route before because he felt out of place and nervous there. he's from a middle class background, wears blazers and corduroy with lapel pin badges, you know the kind of look.

now this is not me criticising him, as far as I know him he's a good dude who shows up for the union and gets involved in direct action and generally puts his money where is mouth is. he's worked on outreach and gone door knocking in this same area and is very relaxed and pleasant in any company. in this sense he's a better leftist than a lot of people I've met who have the aesthetics and talking points down but turn shy when you ask how they actually participate.

anyway, he walked with me and we talked about it. he admitted he simply had no experience of this kind of industrial environment. he associated it with the rough working class pubs on the main street nearby, and inferred that it was dangerous to him as an outsider. I explained that it was a working environment, that each lot was somebody's business, and that the closed units he saw were offices used by traders who just needed somewhere to manage invoices, payroll and accounts a couple of times a week. nobody is going to beat up a complete stranger in broad daylight for walking past their place of work. as soon as he understood that, he relaxed.

thing is, the only reason I know this is because I grew up around these places. I worked out of an office unit just like those for a while in my teens, and walked to and from my job without ever being hassled in their vicinity. I went to school with the lads whose fathers and uncles owned the construction and scrap yards and shipping warehouses around us, and who went to work there as soon as they were old enough to wear a hard hat. the difference between a dangerous industrial space and a neutral part of the everyday environment is something I learned by living in it. the tradeoff is that I feel uncomfortable in middle class cul de sacs, because the danger zones there are invisible to me.

class is woven into our understanding of the world as children, blended seamlessly with our sense of objectivity before we have a chance to question it. as adults we have the capacity and context to unpack a lot of those assumptions and reinvent the borders around them — go door knocking for the union, build new relationships across class lines — but we can't ignore the fact that class is one of our primary cultural experiences. you will carry it with you like a half remembered motherland your entire life, like it or not.

[neonovember]

Do they know you’re with me?

pairings: battinson x fem!reader

summary: this city always found a way to take another part of bruce, until all that was left of him was Batman. But taking you? Now that was just downright stupid.

warnings: very graphic displays of violence, feral!bruce wayne, misogyny, assault, fluff, angst, literal murder

word count: 4.9k

a/n: watched batman for the second time and decided to dip my feet into the seeping black oil spill that is bruce wayne and his fucked up morals. + you end up driving the fucking batMOBILE

You don’t remember how you found yourself sprawled on the floor of a rotting warehouse 20 miles from the inner city streets of Gotham, all you can do is feel the brick stones beneath the weight of your body, scratchy and old, crumbling beneath the grip of your fingers.

The slits of sunlight that cast shadows across the floor look like mirages. The fuzzy edges of your vision not quite clearing despite your desperate blinks. You want Bruce, you want him now.

You scrawl to the bordered-off windows, stuffing fingers into the space between the pieces of bordered wood, trying to pry them open, you’re exhausted, you don’t know why, your entire body is just aching, your limbs limp and feeble, sore from an exertion you have no memory of. The thought makes you shudder unconsciously, why is it so hard to remember?

Your mind is a collection of big black oil spills, they spread, when you try harder to think back to hours before. You don’t like this, god, everything fucking hurts

You continue this limp pathetic excuse of an escape, eyes burning with tears as the wood refuses to budge, the flashes of Bruce teaching you self-defence engulf your mind.The smell of old rubber, your complaining and his gruff condescension clambering on the gym floor as he taught you a left hook, how to twist under an assailant, how to fight smart instead of hard, how to knock a 200lb man unconscious- it all falls flat now, settles on the floor amongst the rotting moss and burrowed insects, what a fucking joke.

You can’t help but feel the discerning glare on Bruce’s face at this moment, watching you stifle as if you hadn’t spent weeks together preparing for this exact moment.

You’re pathetic, he’s wasted air and time on you. The image of his face pulls the tears on your waterline down your cheeks, and you collapse against the warehouse walls as you crumble. You relish the burn of your nails digging into your palm, letting the burn radiate through your hand as you roughly hit your head against the moist rotting stone.

This was it, the last of your name left to rot next to wet hay and dust, all you’ve worked for, all you’ve done, swept away and taken with the autumn wind. You know it’s horrible but isn’t this such a pathetic way to die? Not in combat, the blood and dirt of your struggle signifying your sacrifice, but because you were weak, brittle and foolish like your father had always said.

You stuff a fist into your mouth, reprimanding yourself, you will die, you will get your head spilt on this floor if you don’t get up, right fucking now. Forcing back the guttural groan back into the ribs of your chest, you survey the damp warehouse for any way out, and your eyes catch the glint sparkling against the rays of the rising sun.

Metal, something hard, something you can use to pry open blanks. It might be oxidising into rusted dust in the seconds that pass but it’s something, and that’s good.

Staggering towards it, you hold your weight against the warehouse walls, practically hopping with your one good foot towards the sledgehammer. You grasp the metal into your weak fist, and relief washes over you as the weight of it reassures some real damage.

Your eyes catch the bordered wooden door, secured with a padlock drilled into the metal bars, this warehouse is left to its mere skeleton, the metal rotting as peaks of asbestos break free.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, you shuffle your body towards the door, crouching closer to inspect the latch, your ears catch rambunctious laughter and the crash of bottles far to the right of the rotting warehouse. Your assumed assailants celebrating your capture perhaps, you shudder as you recall your unconsciousness moments ago. What else had they done to you?

Bringing the heavy hammer down into the padlock, the dust from the door flutters to the floor. You pause as you await the sounds of boots running to ensure your capture again, but it does not come. The laughter and boom of their festivities conceal your escape.

Giving the padlock two more hits, it finally gives way, cracking through the metal as you rip it from the door handle. You breathe through your nose as you take a tentative step forward, slipping through the gap you’ve forced open.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the pitch-black darkness that surrounds you, and soon you realise the warehouse is much bigger than you thought. Rows of brimstone columns hold up the rows of metal fixtures, slits of moonlight filter through the expansive window roof, the stench of old machinery and dye hinting to a possibly old fabric factory. You don’t want to consider how those big machines could be used against you, the idea pushed back down in your mind.

Shuffling forward, you catch the shadowy burst of light coming from your right, licks of orange and yellow crawling up the decrepit walls. A fire of some sort, surrounded by your assailants casts shadowy figures that seem huge and monstrous.

You begin searching for an escape, a latched window you could force open, some hole in the wall, anything. You come up empty, the towering walls looking down on you almost sealing your fate. You’re at the hands of these men to do as they would like, and for a moment you’d wish you’d listen to Bruce and let him attach that tracking device on your watch, violating or not.

You press your fingertips to your eyes as you try to think, the only plausible chance of escape is to move closer to the right wing of the warehouse and slip past their drunken state whilst their guard is let down.

Pressing your back to the wall, you venture forth, pressing forward with the tips of your toes as your sneakers squeak against the dirt floor. Making a turn your feet crash into a wayward liquor bottle, the glass chattering beneath your feet. You wince as you hear the men stop their guffawing at the sound, ears picking up your mistake. 

“What the fuck was that?” You hear the gruff throaty sound of someone yelling.

“No idea, ya sure you kept our girl locked and tied??” Another replies, you have to keep from retching at the sound of them referring to you as “their girl”. The way their slimy mouths wrapped around the word had you sick.

“Don’t fucking tell me you forgot rookie, or else you’ll fuckin join her ass” The man from before argues, anger riddling his tone.

“Hey! Relax aight? He padlocked that shit, there ain’t no way she’s getting through it. So sit the fuck back down Daroll, it’s probably some fuckin’ rat. You know how this city is, with all its fucking filth clogging the streets, turning those animals into the size of goddamn cats” The man replies, in a calm tone. He seems to be the ring leader of sorts, the rest of the men falling in line and replying in unison.

“At least now we’ve got Bruce Wayne’s girl tied back there, this time we’ll get our goddamn compensation from this city. I’ll make sure of it” The man replies.

You shiver as they refer to you as some sort of bargaining chip like Bruce would send millions in a briefcase in return for your safety. You don’t doubt that he would, but the thought scares you to no end. If this played out how they wished for it, what would stop any common thief from snagging you off the streets of Gotham in return for their “reparations”?

Bruce had to set an example, and you don’t doubt the events that would follow would be a bloody mess of fists and broken bones. You can’t help it, but something deep within you preens at the thought, Bruce, clad in his dark element, falling over the assailants like a spreading darkness.

But the fear of being left to rot in some warehouse on the docks of Bleak island is still there, and who’s to say Bruce would even find you? Your body, left in an unmarked grave once they got what they wanted, or better yet, thrown into the city’s river to be used as fish bate.

“Bruce fucking Wayne, man if there’s one name I hate in this goddamn city. Shit, you can barely escape it from the way they’ve plastered his face on every inch of Gotham” A man says

“Ya know the news outlets, always love a fucking sob story, actin’ as if families don’t get massacred by us daily” The man laughs, and they soon join him, falling back into the harmony of throwing back beer bottles and throwing knives at rats scurrying away.

Once you feel their ears aren’t catching every tiny sound, you continue your venture through the warehouse, the grip of the sledgehammer is firm in your grasp and it tethers you to the ground. If they did find you, at least you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Catching the view of the group of men, huddled around a large bonfire, they each wear the same worn dirtied clothes, maroon jackets and washed-out plaid shirts that peek through. Beer cans and stunted cigarettes litter the ground, chests full of what you assumed would be weapons and drugs strewn about.

From the way their expansive shoulder stretch the material, you grapple with the fact that these men weren’t your typical scrawny thugs looking for a fix. They had decent muscle, the kind that could crush your neck within their grasps. And you were in their very own lion's den.

Gulping down the fear radiating down your back, you catch the stream of moonlight peeking from a cracked open door. A hope stirs within you, and you force yourself to swallow your fear as you calculate the very short steps you would need to make before finally escaping.

Stepping forward, your eyes are strained on the group of men, never letting your eyes leave them as you slip past from the shadows of the warehouse walls.

You’re so close, the door practically at arms reach before you are yanked hard by an invading hand, your neck rag dolls back as the mysterious man shoves you against him.

“No!!” You scream, as he leans into your neck, the faint smell of tobacco and beer causing you to wretch your face away.

“Looks like I found our very own little lady tryna escape” The man yells towards the huddled group at the centre of the warehouse. You thrash against him with all your might, limbs flying with little control as you try and rip yourself from his grip.

His chest is like a wall, laughing down at your frail body thrashing against his own, he presses your backside into his own as he grinds from the side of your eye.

“If you want it rough ya could’ve just said that doll” The man snarks, hand reaching down to grip your chest before you bite down on it, hard.

“You fucking bitch!!” He rips his hand from your mouth before his fist is colliding with your face. Your brain takes a minute to register the pain, almost blinded by the force of it, before you groan loudly. The white-hot pain spreads across your face and down your neck, throbbing with an intensity you’ve never felt before.

Your neck lies limp across his chest and he drags you towards the men looking on in amusement. Throwing you to the ground, your eyes meet scuffed boots that press against your bruising cheek.

You try and get yourself up before the boot is pressing onto your back, imprisoning you to the floor.

“Seems like you got in a little tussle huh?” The man you’ve recognised as the leader of the pack speaks down at you.

“You see, we wanted to make this as painless as possible for you, but now you had to go and try and escape didn’t you?” The man pulls you from the floor, dropping you onto a plastic chair that presses onto your back.

You don’t dare to look up to the man, he’s got a good foot on you and he looks at you like a formidable statue.

“Look at me when I speak to you” The man roars suddenly, pressing a dirty finger to your chin, forcing your chin to meet his thundering blues.

Forced to look up at him, you take notice of the features that make up his face. Blond hair dirtied with blood and dust falling over his face, the scratching scrawl of a yellow stubble that spreads across his jaw and neck. Brooding dark brows hang over his deep silver-blue eyes. His features are conventional in the way a Prince Charming or cover model would be, but the snark and deep hatred that seeps into every one of his features cast an malevolent shadow, and sets your heart to pound against your chest.

“Don’t you see? My men wouldn’t have hurt you if you’d- if you’d just listened. Why can’t anyone fucking listen, huh? Do you think I want to do this?” He screams at you, hands flying arms they press at his chest in some sort of act. His features morphed into a facade of anguish as if he had no choice but to chain you in a rotting cell.

You bite your tongue to stop your sharp mouth from scoffing in his face, the taste of copper is one you swallow regretfully. You eye his erratic behaviour, the way his body moves around like his a life wire, it’s one you’ve seen before.

Some unmarked drug that had taken over the streets of Gotham, one the GCPD has been scrambling to find out but coming up with loose ends. Bruce himself had warned you of its destruction on mostly unassuming teenagers and drop heads, the way the high would go on forever, before descending into a madness fuelled by the user's deepest fears. Sending you into a psychotic breakdown you can’t escape without throwing yourself from a building or shoving a pistol down your throat.

He seemed to be at the peak of it, relishing in the euphoria and grandiosity it granted him.

Your eyes catch the shadow of a winged cape, up high and cloaked in the darkness of the ceiling, and you have to press your fingers into your thighs to stop your face from showcasing the relief that washes over.

Bout damn time.

Your eyes focus on the man again but glancing from the corner of your eye as you catch your winged saviour perched on the ceiling's metal columns. He raises a gloved finger to his lips, mouthing one single word.

Distract.

You blink twice to show you understand, before diverting your eyes back to the erratic man who’s begun to sneer at you in disgust.

“What do you think you’ll get out of this?” You mutter, and he reels back at you in shock, before a smile pulls at the slit of his lips, eyes blazing with a fury that sets you on edge.

“I always knew he liked em’ mouthy” The man replies, before stepping forward.

“Bruce isn’t going to sacrifice the security of his name just to give you all some fucking pocket change. You think he’s that stupid?” You reply in a voice you hope is every bit steady and confident as you think.

That man narrows his eyes at you, as the rest of the men look on in eagerness. Ready to watch you get ripped to shreds by their beloved leader, salivating at the thought of you bloody and bruised by their fists.

“Bruce is too soft for this city, spending all his damn time boarded up in that manor, all that money just left to gather dust.” The man begins, resting his body against a barbed-wrapped bat.

“For years, Gotham had griefed that man, reconciling that The Bruce Wayne was no longer a symbol of hope for this city”

“But then there was you, that sweet little thing that forced him out of his fucking cave. And boy did the media love you, how couldn’t they? A precious doll that got Gotham’s billionaire to open his manor gates again” The man replies in disgust, spitting next to your shoes.

“And then he was back to being the public’s favourite rich, billionaires boy. All we’ve worked for, everything we’d done to prove he was like the filth that crawled through these streets out the fucking window”.

“Whilst people like me, like us, good hard working people, were left to get drowned by the muck and filth of this city. The swamp that sludges and clings to the streets. Now I’m not that religious, but how the fuck is that fair?”

“I know you aren’t stupid, different from the other woman he’s plastered to his side, anyone with two fucking eyeballs can see that. Which makes it all the more reason that we’ll get what we need no matter what”. The man smiles at you fondly, as if he hadn’t just threatened your life mere moments ago.

His eyes light up at the look of disgust you throw at him,

“Oh don’t look at me like that baby, It’s just business. Brucey will give us our well-deserved money, and we’ll give him back the one thing he cares about.” The man replies, before raising his bat to press gently into your chest.

“You.”

Your ears catch the swift swoop of air before your eyes register the enveloping black armour that glides across the warehouse.

It happens quickly, one moment the self-proclaimed leader is chanting, murmuring Bruce’s fate before he is knocked down by a batted creature

“The fuck?! Is that Batman-“. You hear the murmur of confusion litter the men, as they catch glimpses of a swallowing darkness descend into their safe haven.

The rest of the men don’t get a second to reach for their weapons before he's taking them down with his bare hands, picking them off, one by one like fleas.

You watch on as Bruce collides a man's face into another, smashing their skulls until their faceless and bloody. One brave thug throws a wooden crate at him, and he catches it swiftly, throwing it into another’s back.

The sound of splitting skin and the crunch of bone seems to go on forever, the grunts of Bruce’s voice the only sound he makes as he throws limp bodies like rag dolls across the dirt floor.

The rest of the thugs scurry like ants, escaping through the side door and jumping into rusting pickup trucks as they watch through the review mirror in heaving horror.

Batman has left one men in particular behind, wanting to take his time with them, the ferocity of his unneeded rage doesn’t escape him, his fists are practically dumb as they are split and bleeding from colliding with bone.

He’s shaking with it, the fear and malevolence that seems to drip from him like blood. His head is screaming, white noise blocking the outside world since the moment he found you missing. He knows at that moment that the deep dark part of his night city creature is rearing its head, he wants to destroy every single fucking thug that has ever even aided in your capture, preens with a burning desire to eradicate and burn their entire existence off the face of Gotham itself.

He hears the sound of your soft whimper, and he tears his eyes away from the groaning man at his feet. And for the first time since his fist collided with that fucking, he’s eyes glide over your frame hunched in the chair.

Jaw tight as he naughs his teeth, a growl escaped his chest at the sight of you, his baby, dried blood seeping down your neck as your left eye is swollen shut from the force of the punch.

Bruce steps towards you, tearing his gloves off to press his cold fingers towards your cheek, soothing and brushing the tears that streamed down your face.

“It hurts Bruce, it hurts so bad” You sob, and the sound retches at Bruce’s heart, his eyes set on the outline of a fist pressed into your perfect skin.

“I know baby, I know, I’ll make it better okay? I’ll make it better” Bruce replies softly, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The evidence of another man, daring to put he’s hands on you sends that same unchecked rage to burn through his chest, and Bruce turns swiftly at the man responsible.

He’s crawling away pathetically, his leg twisted at the awkward angle as he sobs in pain loudly. Bruce boots steps towards him, the towering expansive figure of what you could only describe as a brick fucking wall moving with ease as he watches on at him pathetically.

Reaching down, he reaches with a gigantic hand to drag him back towards Bruce’s feet. Pressing a foot to the broken bone, the man howls in pain as Bruce brutalising his wounds. It isn’t enough, the cries and screams of your attacker do nothing to satiate the flames of anger unfurling in him.

He wants him silenced.

Gripping his neck, Bruce roughly licks him up, dragging his limb body towards you. Picking up his face by his dark strands, Bruce forces him to stare at his work shaking him to emphasis what he had done to you.

“You did this no? You like beating women?? You dare put your goddamn filthy hands on her and you try to run away?” Bruce roars, pulling tight against the man’s hair as he gains enough energy to howl loudly.

“I think it’s only fair to apologise, it’s the least you could do” Bruce growls into his air before throwing him to the floor. The man looks back at Bruce in confusion, blooding spitting out of his nose.

“APOLOGISE” Bruce roars, it bursts through his belly like a caved creature and the man quickly complies, shaking in fear as he fold himself onto his knees, looking up at you behind clasped hands.

There is a gurgle as you look down, like he’s trying to speak the words but there is too much blood flogged in his lungs. It fills you with a concerning pleasure to see your attacker like this, shaking knees as he looks up at you, coughing and heaving, mouthing the words before restarting.

“I’m not sure she hears you, how about you say it abit louder” Bruce yells from behind, causing the man to flinch.

Finally regaining speech, the man fights through the tearing and failing of his voice cords, and screams out in sobbing chants.

“I’m sorry? ‘m sorry ‘m so sorry’ please!”

It’s all it takes before Bruce is picking him up by his collar, colliding a ginormous fist across his face, the wheezed scream leaving his barely intact throat as he beats him to the ground, hands coming down again, and again and again. Blood spraying across his unmasked face, a deranged look taking over that saw only one purpose.

The man begins to crawl away on his knees, a wheezing wet exhale leaving his chest every few seconds, a line of sludge blood follows him, circled him like a tail, he sputters as his lungs begins to fill with liquid, before upruptly shooting up and collapsing limp onto the dirt floor covered in shit, piss and blood.

Bruce turns to you, his footsteps hurrying to crouch down as he cradled your head in his strong arms. He shushes you gently as he rocks you back and forth, caressing you with the bloody hands that avenged you.

“Oh Bruce, I should’ve listen to you, if I hadn’t-I I had just, if I would’ve just listened-“ You strain, voice wobblying as the fear and anger burning through finally caught up. The adrenaline and numbing you felt moments ago now replaced by the reality of the situation you had found yourself in.

Bruce raises your face to meet his own, shaking his head as he wipes away tears

“Hey, hey, none of that, you being connected to me? It would’ve happened sooner or later. I just thought I could protect you from that-this” Bruce gestures to the mangled corpse surrounding you two “Just for a little longer. You held your own today, and god you looked beautiful doing it”. Bruce replies, a haze cast over his eyes as they bore into your own.

“I’m proud of you, and l’m just thankful your alive, alright?” Bruce shakes your shoulder gently to emphasis his point, causing you to let out a laugh that sends knifes down your lungs.

You grip him closer to you, your hands trailing againts the thick metal and fabric of his suit that seemed to stretch endlessly. Reaching further, your hand comes into contact with a wet lukewarm spot that seems to stream between your fingers. Looking down, your eyes bludge as you take notice of the deep jaggered gash stretching across Bruce’s midsection.

“Oh my god, Bruce you’re bleeding” You whisper, pressing a hand towards the bleeding wound spreading its wetness further and further.

And as if he hadn’t even noticed before, Bruce takes his eyes off of you for the first time, looking down at the wound on his stomach. Ripping through skin and muslce so fiercely, lol or a lighting bolt only thicker and redder with blood.

“It’s fine, just a little scratch” Bruce replies, however he doubles over you anyway, hunched figure holding onto your shoulders as the pain rocks through him.

“You’re going to bleed out, we have to get you to a hospital” You cry, tears burning your eyes at the thought of losing him. You had just got him back, it isn’t fair.

“No, no, no hospital, take me to Alfred” Bruce erases our, copper spilling out of his mouth as he coughs violently.

“How? Bruce I can’t, you won’t make it if I walk you or-or get a cab-”

“Honey, honey I need you to listen to me, you have to take the Batmobile, it’s the only way” Bruce replies, as you haul him up gently onto his feet, resting his arm around you.

“What? You can’t possibly think I’ll be able to drive that” You mourn, the Batmobile was another thing entirely, a second extension of Batman himself. You don’t even know if it was suited for anyone else to drive without you know, hurting them.

“I’ve got about 10 minutes before the entire contents of my bloodstream is emptied between those fingers” Bruce replies wincing, as he angles himself so that he is resting his body weight on his good foot.

“You’ve got to do this, I know you can do this” He groans out, a wave of nauseous pain takes over him and he topples over, retching.

You have no choice, despite the spine tingling fear of driving Bruce’s most prized position, your man needed you, and if you didn’t step up, you would lose him right between your fingers.

“Okay, okay” You huff out, breathing air from your mouth as you shuffle towards the exit of the warehouse, Gotham twinkles in the depths of the night, the crumbling infested towers and roads of filth alive even now.

The Batmobile comes into view, in all its indestructible and formidable glory, and you gulp as you approach the mass of a vehicle.

You slide Bruce into the passenger seat, before walking around the car into the drivers compartment, the cool ventilated air of the Batmobile does little to ease the anxiety jittering your bones.

Bruce rips a rug in half, holding it between his teeth before wrapping it around his stomach, forcing the wound to soak up the cotton. He reached for a latch in the batmobiles left console, ripping open a syringe filled with some sort of golden liquid, handing it to you, he nods againts your wide eyes, towards his naked arm.

“What??” You reply ghastly

“Just some pain killer hun, ain’t nothing different than an IV”

Shaking, you brace his arm, before driving the needle into his arm, pressing down the contraption as you watch the liquid golden seep into his bloodstream.

Bruce winces before letting out a huffed breathe of releif, blowing out some strands across his face before leaning back.

You gawk at the millions of contraptions and buttons of the center console, parts you notice belonging to any normal car while others seemed intergalactic. You know Bruce had a knack for inventing even the most daring gadgets, technology that veered on science fiction. But this was something else entirely.

As if sensing your trepidation, Bruce walks you through the powering switch, before pressing a button from his sleeve that promoted a holographic figure of Alfred.

“Master Bruce? Y/N? Is that you?” Alfred replied in shock, the brisket white hairs of his eyebrows pulled tight.

“Alfred, god, Bruce has been hit, badly, he’s just- he was saving me and now- now” You hastily reply, a half sob crawling up your throat as your forced to recount the prior evidence.

“Jesus Christ, Bruce always over estimated himself in all the years I’ve known him, but taking down a whole sector with no back up??”

“It’s just a scratch Alfred, you-” wheeze- “you need to relax” Bruce replies coughing loudly

Alfred peers down at him in disapproval

“It’s save to say, I’ll be prepping the operating room and phoning in Dr Proctor” Sighs Alfred, the turbulence of caring for such a man, for two men, aging him.

The holographic projector of Alfred shuts down, as Bruce shifts his face to look at you, beads of sweat has formed across his forehead, a thin sheen coating his face.

“Now it’s all you baby, get us home” Bruce replies softly, you reach towards his face to brush away the dark wet strands falling across his face.

Pressing a hard kiss againts his forehead, Bruce quickly reachers for your cheek, pulling you down to press his soft lips against your own, swallowing the pain and anguish whispered between the both of you.

You can’t help but let the tears stream down your face, and as Bruce glides his tongue along your bottom lip in a strangled moan, he licks them away quickly.

Shuddering with squeezed eyes, you peer at Bruce’s figure, layed across the passenger seat, heavy breaths wheezing through his chest.

You turn back to the wheel of the Batmobile, your hands grip the wheel until the leather squeaks under your fingers. Everything from this terrrifying ordeal falls away, the men, Bruce’s final victim, that room..it’s muffled by the thick air of the Batmobile interior. You are Bruce’s, and you will fight teeth and bone to ensure he doesn’t die saving you, after all his done, after everything that had happened.

Most of your life, you’ve never been able to know exactly what you want, or what to do, until Bruce had swooped into your life, cape and all. And now you have one purposes at this moment, and it comes to you clear as day. Deep as bone, beyond flesh and blood.

You get him home.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

🏷️ Just send an ask to me a part of my Taglist!

[circus4apsycho8]

Gosh idk if you’re ask box is open rn but I’ve been dying for a story where y/n pulls a Nya and turns into the wind (bc they’re the master of wind) and so Cole plays guitar outside and has tons of wind chimes to make music with his partner still. Bonus points if y/n comes back somehow

Lots of fluff Lots of fluff 😩 I beg

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚒 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 <𝟹𝟹𝟹 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐! 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 :) 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚗 :)

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

anything. | cole x reader

“This is it, guys,” Lloyd notes, green eyes studying the map anxiously as he leans back. “They have everything that they need, which means that we don’t have much time. We have to find whatever it is that they’re working on and destroy it.” 

“The cameras that we’ve hid around Ninjago have picked up heightened activity at a certain warehouse,” Nya adds. “We think that’s where they’re working.” 

“Here’s the plan. Me, Kai, Cole, and Zane are going to infiltrate the warehouse first. Jay and Nya, you two are going to keep an eye on the streets around the block. And as for you,” Lloyd turns to face you. “You’re going to keep an eye out from above. Make sure that the communicators in your hoods are working.”

You all nod, everyone pulling their hoods over their heads. 

“Okay, what are we waiting for? Let’s do this!” Kai yells. 

“NINJAGO!” the seven of you shout together. With that, you all set off for the deck of the Bounty. 

You waste no time in leaping off of the edge, using bursts of wind underneath your feet to travel across the sky. You decide to expend the least amount of energy as possible, so you save your elemental dragon for later. 

You follow the ninja’s dragons, easily able to keep up with the wind on your side. The breeze snaps past your body, granting you a sense of liberty. It surrounds you entirely – no ground to be found for miles below. 

“The warehouse is not far,” comes Zane’s voice via the communicator. “But, we will need to land earlier in order to mask our presence.” 

“There’s an alley just before it that you all should be able to land behind,” Pixal replies. “Zane, I have sent you the coordinates. Take the lead and show them.” 

Zane’s dragon swoops in front of Lloyd’s, who slows down a little.  

You notice that Cole’s being pretty quiet. Not unusual, but you think he’s deep in thought. You turn towards him, letting a blast of wind emanate from your palm. You use the momentum to land on the back of his dragon, immediately snaking your arms around him and hooking them around his torso. 

Making sure that your communicator is muted, you set your chin on his shoulder. “Babe, are you doing okay?” 

Normally, he’s all hopped up on that pre-fight adrenaline like you are – talking with everyone else, joking and speculating about how the fight may go. But something is different this time. Perhaps because this is going to be the deciding battle? You’re not sure. 

You can feel how tense he is against your body. His dragon offers a low wail, making you think he’s somewhat apprehensive. 

“Yeah,” he replies, tone quiet. You study what you can see at your angle, but you can’t see much because of his mask. “I just...I don’t know. This feels off.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t put my finger on it. Just...please, be careful?” 

“I will if you will,” you mumble. 

One of his hands come to grip yours, squeezing it. You snuggle your chin into the crook of his neck, listening as the wind whips past the two of you. 

“I love you,” he mumbles. 

“I love you too,” you respond, feeling his head lean on yours for a few moments. You notice the silence that has overcome the group as well. 

“Will you stay until we get down?” he wonders, still holding your hand. 

“Of course,” you respond, frowning. 

From there, the group descends from the sky, all heading towards the roof of a building that’s hidden behind a skyscraper. Hopefully, the enemy won’t see you guys because of that. 

The elemental dragons dissipate midair, allowing for the seven of you to leap onto the roof of the building. Cole hops down beside you, observing as the others sail down as well. 

“Okay, everyone, get into position,” Lloyd states. 

With that, Cole’s hand slips out of your grasp as he, Kai, Lloyd, and Zane all go to infiltrate the warehouse. Jay and Nya hop down the side of the building, both going to investigate the street. You, on the other hand, decide to get a better vantage point. 

The skyscraper in front of you seems to be tall enough to work. With that thought in mind, you utilize your power to send you sailing up to the top, bursts of wind supporting your feet as you essentially climb the air. 

When you reach the top, you latch one of your hands onto the side of the building, not yet wanting to climb over as your power dies down around you. You let yourself hang precariously off the side for a moment, your grip the only thing protecting you from gravity’s unforgiving grasp. The roads and buildings below you are so tiny now...like little dots or stripes all over a canvas. 

 You can’t help but grin; despite the seriousness of the situation, the adrenaline rush of being up high and in your element never failed to brighten your mood. Now reminded of the task at hand, you hoist yourself over the edge of the building, landing onto the roof with ease. 

The breeze slips through the fabric of your gi, beckoning an army of goosebumps to arise all over your skin. You walk around the perimeter of the building, making sure to locate the warehouse where the ninja will be at. 

Everything seems to be okay for the moment – the streets are running as normal, citizens carrying on as usual. You lean over the side of the railing for a moment, studying the warehouse. Nothing seems particularly off about it from your viewpoint. 

“Everyone else in position?” comes Lloyd’s voice through the communicator. It’s just above a whisper, making you think they’re inside. 

Jay’s static-laced voice is the next to sound: “Nya and I are ready!” 

“I’m watching from a nearby skyscraper,” you affirm. 

“Okay, good. We’re getting ready to breach the building. Keep a close eye out,” Lloyd instructs. 

“You got it,” Jay responds. 

With that, you simply observe for a few minutes. Nothing much of interest happens, and the others are being silent on the communicator. Paired with how quiet it is, that makes you think that they’ve successfully entered without being caught. 

Suddenly growing antsy, you turn to take a look at the other side of the city. Similarly, nothing out of the ordinary is occurring. 

Just as you’re about to stride back over to the warehouse side, a flurry of motion catches your attention from your peripheral vision. You twirl back around. 

“Huh?” you mumble to yourself, watching as something rises in the distance. It seems to be a tower of sorts...no surprise there, but it looks like it’s...getting taller? And wider? 

You frown, leaning on the edge of the building. What is that? It looks like it’s on the outskirts of the city. 

“Jay, Nya...do any of you guys see what I’m looking at?” you question. 

“No, what?” Nya answers. “Where?” 

“It looks like some kind of tower. But it’s expanding, growing taller,” you note, frowning as it swivels to face the city. Suddenly, a horrid feeling creeps through you. “Wait...” 

“Guys!” Kai’s voice yells, heavy static obscuring his words. It thickens as he speaks: “...was a trap...can’t get out...need to find...tricked us!” 

“A trap?” Jay wonders. 

You observe as four metal panels slide open on the tower, revealing some sort of machine. Eyes widening, you instantly leap into action, hopping over the edge and using your wind to dash across the air, straight towards the cannon. 

“Jay, follow her! I’ll try to get the others!” Nya says. You can barely hear her because of how loud the wind is, but either way it doesn’t matter. You have to get there before the enemy’s plan succeeds. 

So, they’d really thrown you all off this whole time. You’ll admit – it’s probably the smartest plan a villain has had in a long while. They’d completely thrown you off their tail this whole chase. 

Even so, they’ve made one mistake – you, Jay and Nya are still free. You can still prevent a disaster. 

It doesn’t take you long to arrive at the building. Using the wind to break your fall, you land just past the gated fence. The skyscraper spirals upwards before you, mechanical whirring coming from within. 

You watch as the very top expands into what appears to be some sort of giant weapon. A cannon? It kind of reminds you of Garmatron in a way. 

“Ninja!” someone yells. You spot a bunch of goons spilling out from the entrance, all armed. “Get her!” 

You swing your arm out, sending a strong gust of wind barreling towards them. It hurdles all of them backwards, all smacking the wall roughly. It seems as if the impact has knocked them out thankfully. 

But...what in the hell can you possibly do now? They most likely have everything they need completely set up if they’re only revealing themselves to you now. 

In other words, there’s not much you can do. 

Your breath becomes stuck in your throat as you see magic energy swelling up into a ball at the tip of the cannon. The shot is already charging, and it’s aimed directly at the city! 

Immediately, you swivel your head around to survey your surroundings. Ahead is a building that’ll get you high enough to suit your only idea. 

In an instant, you’re climbing up the air with the wind blasting from underneath your feet. It only takes you a moment to ascend the side of the building, leaping over the railing to the roof. 

You turn to face the cannon, watching as the blast gradually charges. With both hands now out to your sides, you close your eyes. 

Center yourself. 

The breeze lifts slightly, swirling around you as your fingertips curl. Once you feel a deepened connection with your element, you funnel your protectiveness into the spell. 

Now with your emotion woven between the seams of the wind, it snaps into something stronger. Its circumference multiplies, blocking the cannon’s path. 

Already you can feel your power weakening, but you don’t dare back off. Not now of all times. Despite being strained, you force yourself into a surge of Spinjitzu – the most emotionally charged burst that you’ve ever performed. The urgency of the situation causes the tornado to spiral, forming a wind barrier that cuts through the atmosphere at a dangerous speed. 

From somewhere, you can hear a faint boom. But your surroundings are blurring together, the wind howling far too loud for you to be able to hear anything else. Against your barrier, you can feel rancid energy throwing everything it has at you. 

But you push harder. 

A raw scream rips from your throat as the wind swirls faster, effectively cutting through the dark magic of the shot before it has a chance to pass you. 

Numbness creeps through your body as you feel yourself aligning with the wind; whispers of past masters echo within the confines of your conscience, too garbled to make any sense. 

Your vision becomes blinded by a sea of white, feeling now completely gone as you realize that you’re too consumed to return. 

But that’s okay. 

As the dark magic fades to nothing, you find yourself slipping past the force that lies beyond. The wind gradually fades to a stop, reverting the atmosphere to its normal state as you find yourself standing once more. 

Calm overcomes you as you study your surroundings. 

...What had you been doing? 

You stand there for a moment, finding your memories jaded as the numbness recedes, now replaced with...longing. A burning desire to be where you belong. 

Commotion emanates from the road below you, but you find that you don’t particularly care about it. Your interest lies in the horizon. 

Now free from the confines of mere physicality, whole with the element you have come to love... 

Nothing is holding you back from joining the sky, seeing what the world has to offer... 

Still in an anthropomorphic shape, you step onto the ledge of the building. You glance down, at first studying the height and then your hands. 

You are the Wind. 

Just as you’re about to step over the edge, voices resonate from behind you. 

“You did it!” 

You turn to face the group before you, all staring at you expectantly. Yes...you recognize these people. Your previous friends. 

The one in black – Cole – emerges first. “You’re okay!” 

He attempts to embrace you, but to no avail – the wind composing your body simply disperses as he passes through you. 

“Ha, that's gonna take some getting used to. But we'll figure out a way to change you back. Don't worry,” Kai assures, stepping forward next to the others. 

“Back?” you wonder. 

“To normal. You know, the old you,” Jay answers, face falling in confusion alongside Cole’s. 

“Normal?” 

“Hey...what’s wrong?” Cole questions, now directly in front of you as you stare at him blankly. 

Then, you hear it again – those enticingly mysterious whispers. They beckon you to join them in an eternal adventure throughout the sky. You turn to glance at the horizon longingly. 

“Do you hear it?” you question, ignoring Cole’s query as you stare at the sky. 

“What?” Cole wonders. 

“The wind. It's so much louder now. So powerful. More powerful than I could have imagined... I must go.” 

“Go? Wait...no. You can’t. Listen, you have to focus. Concentrate. We’ll figure something out!” Cole pleads, trying to touch you once more. 

You stare at him. How have you become so faded in what you feel? Either way, the distress on his expression prompts you to take one of his hands in yours, the other settling on his cheek in an attempt to comfort him somewhat. 

His stare begs you to remain, with unshed tears lining his eyes. “Please? I...I need you. More than you could ever know.” 

Still, you don’t respond. You gently pull your hand out of his grasp, turning to face Wu as he approaches you: 

“I implore you. Whatever you're hearing, whatever you're experiencing. Fight it! Remember who you are. Remember.” 

You smile slightly. “I am the wind. And we are one.” 

With that, you turn to face the sky, your back towards them. 

“Wind guide you, my friends. Su’um ahrk morah.” 

With that, you leap off of the edge, instantly merging with the wind as the calls of the people behind you fizzle out to nothing. 

… 

First his mom. 

Now you. 

Cole finds himself blankly staring at a picture posted on one of the walls in the monastery. It was of you and him – taken by Nya one day while the group had been cleaning. You had jumped on his back, like you always would. Both of you were smiling. 

Cole finds his thoughts racing back to the same what-if scenarios he’d been contemplating for the last few hours. Why didn’t he insist on staying with you? What had they missed that led them here? 

For a moment, he continues pondering on them when he feels a hand grabbing his shoulder lightly. Cole blinks, a few tears slipping out of his eyes before he turns to find his dad standing next to him. 

“Dad...” Cole mutters, suddenly finding his throat too tight for him to speak. 

Lou’s expression softens as he studies Cole, moving in to hug Cole a few seconds later. The Master of Earth returns the embrace, trying to hold back his tears to no avail. 

The two simply remain in embrace for a few moments as dread washes over Cole. Lou doesn’t falter with the strength of the hug, either. 

“I’m sorry, Cole,” Lou whispers. “I’m so sorry.” 

Cole finds his throat too tight to speak momentarily as his mind desperately searches for some kind of response. 

But for a few seconds, he can’t. 

“Dad?” Cole wonders, trying not to let his voice break. 

“Yes?” 

“Can I...come home with you for a little while? I just...I don’t know if I can be here. I need time away, I think.” 

Lou’s expression softens as he nods. “Of course you can, son. You can stay as long as you want.” 

“Thank you,” Cole replies, choking up slightly. “I’ll go pack.” 

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here waiting.” 

With that, Cole makes his way towards his room. Everything around him suddenly feels too stifling to bear. The remnants of your energy are scattered everywhere, and it suffocates him. The feeling only strengthens its chokehold over him as he passes your room, unable to glance inside. 

Once he makes it to his room, he spends a few minutes shoving clothes and other belongings into his duffel bag. He finds that his thoughts are entirely focused on the process of packing, doing his best to ignore the tears pooling in his eyes. 

When he finishes, he takes a glance around before zipping the bag shut. After tossing the strap over his shoulder, the sound of a soft knock catches his attention. 

Cole pauses, turning slowly. 

There, he spots the Smith family gathered solemnly before him. 

“Hey Cole,” Kai greets softly, offering a hesitant nod. 

“We know you’re about to go, but...we made something for you. All of us. As our...tribute to her. But we think you should have it,” Nya explains, offering Cole a rectangular, black box. 

After taking a second to secure the strap of his bag around his shoulder, Cole takes the box gingerly. He removes the lid, breath hitching at the sight of the item. 

It’s a windchime – an intricate one, at that. Glass and aluminum sculptures cascade down from the top, all depicting different symbols. 

“It’s beautiful,” Cole murmurs, tracing a finger over it. “Thank you.” 

“We’re so sorry, Cole,” Nya mumbles, immediately going to hug Cole. The earth elemental returns the embrace, closing his eyes as a few tears run down his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” he whispers as she pulls away. 

“Let us know if you need anything,” Kai adds, pulling Cole in for a brisk hug as well. 

“I will,” Cole replies, nodding towards Ray and Maya. “Thank you all.” 

“Travel safely, Cole,” Nya adds. 

… 

A few weeks pass. 

Cole finds himself outside one morning, deep in the forest that’s close to his childhood home. After a few minutes of hiking, he finally arrives at his destination. 

“I can’t believe it’s still together,” he mumbles, spotting his old makeshift, childhood fort that he’d built years ago. 

It’s nothing much – just an old blanket strung between three trees to make an impromptu tent. It covers a small area between the trees, including a foldable chair and a flat tree stump that serves as a table. 

Everything looks so much smaller than I remember, Cole thinks as he sets his case and bag down, glancing at the chair. He tilts it down in order to swipe off the dirt and leaves that have collected on it. 

Once that’s done, he sits down slowly, glancing around. The place hasn’t changed much since he last came here – not that it’s much of a surprise. Eventually, Cole spots a short but thick branch within arm’s reach. 

Suddenly reminded of the purpose of his visit, he pulls his bag onto his lap. After unzipping it, he takes out the box that the Smiths gave him. He opens it, gingerly pulling the windchime out. 

Cole gently slips the loop over the branch, watching as his hands leave the item to make sure it doesn’t slip. Fortunately, the grip stays secure when the wind tousles the dangling bits slightly. In the sunlight, the metal and glass parts sparkle softly. 

His eyes linger on the chime momentarily, watching as it starts to emit a soft jingle upon being caressed by the wind. He closes his eyes, listening to its song 

A few moments later, Cole bends down to unlatch the case bearing his old guitar. He’d found it stashed within the closet of his childhood room earlier, which is when the idea to come out here occurred to him. As his gaze sweeps the object, he swallows a soft lump in his throat, not allowing his thoughts to wander just yet. 

As Cole lifts the instrument out of the case, a whelm of emotion floods him – hints of nostalgia mixed with grief and acceptance. His mother used to use this guitar – she would play him songs when he was little. The memory elicits a smile to cross his face as he sets it on his lap, the familiar weight comforting him slightly. 

The wind picks up, causing the windchime’s hum to be joined with the canopy of leaves overhead. Cole listens for a second before deciding to join in. In an attempt to become reacquainted with his former hobby, Cole’s fingertips pluck a few strings. 

As he does so, he eventually grows more confident and begins playing a song by memory. At first, he simply hums the lyrics, still somewhat scared to sing. Though, as he continues, he finds himself relaxing as he starts to sing quietly, opening his voice to the earth and wind. 

Cole finds himself in a state of thoughtlessness – only softly singing while listening to the windchimes’ addition to his makeshift song. At some point, he even unconsciously imagines you next to him, quietly singing along in place of the chime. 

As he finishes, Cole props the guitar against a nearby tree, rubbing a stray tear off of his cheek. He reaches inside his pocket to fish out a picture of you – one taken by Zane a while back. 

“I miss you,” he mumbles, tracing the image slightly. 

Cole sighs, setting it back in his pocket as he feels his eyes welling up with tears again. The thought occurs to him that you could be anywhere in the sky by now. What were you doing? How much of your identity was lost during the transformation? Would he ever be able to see you again? 

He doesn’t know, and he might not ever know. But he had learned a lesson from his mother’s death, and that was to continue fighting no matter what. 

Cole allows another set of tears to spill. Deep down, he understands that he needs time to grieve and reset. He’ll return to the monastery once he’s ready. But now is the time for him to rest and begin healing. 

So, with a heart not as heavy, Cole packs all of his items back up, heading back to his father’s house for the day. 

… 

One stormy day, Cole finds himself seated within the old theater in their town, watching as his father’s quartet rehearses an upcoming performance on the stage. The group dances in unison, Cole grateful to see Lou’s relaxed expression as he dances about with his friends. 

The raven-haired Master of Earth studies their movements carefully, knowing the quartet would want his feedback if needed. 

Too engrossed in the performance, Cole misses the sound of the door opening. Two sneaky pairs of footsteps pad down the aisle leading to each row of theater seats, eventually turning into Cole’s row. 

Upon spotting two silhouettes nearing him in his peripheral vision, Cole turns. 

“Hey!” whispers Jay in a hushed tone, grinning alongside Nya. “Don’t mind us!” 

Nya rolls her eyes, the two sitting down next to Cole. “We’ll wait until they’re finished. Now shush, Jay!” 

Cole chuckles, turning his attention back to the performance. Had they really come all this way to see him? 

Soon enough, the rehearsal comes to a stop as the Royal Blacksmiths pose at the end, all donning goofy grins. The three ninja stand, offering a round of applause. 

“Your hard work has really paid off,” Cole notes as the four men descend the stage. “That was better than last time. Not nearly as many mistakes.” 

“Mr. Brookstone! That sounded awesome!” Jay chirps from next to Cole. 

“I really liked how you transitioned each song in the medley,” Nya adds. 

“Ah, if it isn’t Jay and Nya! Thank you, thank you. We’re glad you all enjoyed the show. What brings you two this way?” 

“We came to see Cole,” Jay answers. “You know. Ninja stuff.” 

“Right,” Lou acknowledges with a chuckle, walking towards the rest of the quartet. “I’ll leave you three to it, then.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Cole calls, watching as the group enters the backstage area before it goes quiet. 

“It’s good to see you, Cole! Sorry we came in kinda unannounced,” Jay starts as Cole turns to face the couple. 

“No worries. You know my dad loves having an audience,” Cole replies, shrugging. 

“How have you been?” Nya inquires as they sit down again. 

Cole smiles smally at the question. “I’m…better now.” 

“We’re glad,” Jay adds, his voice lowering. “We’ve been kinda worried, because…well, it’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Cole notes. “I started doing miscellaneous work around town to keep busy, so I haven’t had as much time to check in.” 

“We understand,” Nya assures. “But, something’s come up back home.” 

“Wait, really? What?” 

“We’ve received word about a group of criminals attempting to smuggle suspicious amounts of Vengestone throughout Ninjago City,” Jay answers.  

“Vengestone? That can’t be good,” Cole mumbles, frowning. “Do you know who’s behind it yet?” 

“Remember Miss Demeanor?” Nya prompts. “It’s her. She and a few other goons.” 

“But that’s not even the worse part!” Jay cries, eyes widening. “There’s a new group of ninja out there! They’ve been stealing our thunder ever since!” 

“And people have been wondering where we are. Though, it’s been a year since we’ve seen any action, so I can’t say I blame them,” Nya remarks. “But, I have to admit, the idea of a new group of ninja just irks me.” 

“New ninja? That sucks,” Cole mumbles. 

“But, what we’re getting at is…we want you to come back home with us, Cole,” Nya adds. “We have a new threat on our hands, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand around and let these tryhard imposters handle it.” 

“Yeah,” Jay adds. “We’re going to go find Kai and Lloyd, too.” 

“What about Zane?” Cole questions. 

“He, Pixal, and Wu are back at the monastery,” Nya explains. 

“I see,” Cole trails off for a moment. Part of him likes the peaceful life he’s built for himself here over the past year, but another part of him is ready to go back. To return to the life of a ninja. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. 

And he knows that you would be the first person to kick his ass into gear if he were to remain while there were people to be helped. 

“Okay,” Cole decides, expression hardening. “Let me go home and pack. I’ll come.” 

… 

[Somewhere in Ninjago...] 

The whispers became clearer after a while. 

And you could hear them – the previous masters of wind, their shared memories with their elements all surging within your ethereal mind as you surfed the winds, never once touching the ground. 

There was one voice that was...familiar to you – almost akin to a rush of déjà vu, yet somehow stronger. Some of the names were familiar – they would tug at distant memories, but not quite hard enough to bring any to light. 

Their strength fades with every passing day, though, and at some point you simply stop worrying about it. 

That is, until you find yourself hovering above Ninjago City one night, watching as the citizens gather for a celebration of some sort below. 

Intrigued, you land on the roof of a nearby skyscraper, leaning over the edge to observe. In their hands, they bear orange objects. 

“It’s a remembrance ceremony.” 

You turn upon hearing the new voice, spotting the only other entity you had met in the sky – the only other entity like you. You don’t know his true identity, just that he has been lost to the wind for far longer than you have. 

“A ceremony...” you repeat, turning back towards the crowd below. “I see.” 

The entity steps closer towards you. “I am glad that you are here. There is something I must ask you.” 

“What is it?” 

“For some time now, I have been observing you. The other day, you intercepted a rooftop altercation and saved a man from falling to his death. Tell me: why do you save them?” 

You pause for a moment, thinking through your answer. Do you save people because it’s right? Well, that must be part of it, but something about that seems...lacking. Incomplete. And you don’t understand why. It’s on the tip of your tongue, except you know you won’t ever be able to understand why by yourself. 

For the moment, though, you elect to keep your thoughts to yourself. “Because...it is the right thing to do.” 

He seems aware of your hesitancy. “I sense there is more to it than that. After all, we are merely an aspect of nature. Right and wrong do not exist within our territory, yet still you insist upon interfering with human activity.” 

“But it feels wrong to me,” you mumble. “And I think there is something I’m missing. Something I’ve lost that has to do with myself.” 

“Then find it,” he encourages, the two of you watching as the lanterns begin floating up. “Perhaps the truth is closer than you think.” 

“Where would I even begin searching?” you question, trailing off as the lanterns float closer to the skyscraper’s edge. 

“Heed their words,” he answers. “You will find what is missing below.” 

With that, the entity dissipates, leaving you to figure out what he means. Hm...below. Did he mean the lanterns? 

You reach over the edge, grasping one of the lanterns and pulling it closer. It appears to have a message on it, addressed to a name that feels familiar, followed by: 

Thank you for stopping that blast of dark magic! Our city would have been torn to pieces if it weren’t for you! 

You repeat that name, releasing the lantern. You say it again as you go to grasp another one: 

Thank you for saving me and my mommy! I’m sure your friends will miss you, though. But you saved us all. Thank you! 

That name. It keeps appearing, again and again, lantern after lantern. Something is on the tip of your tongue, but still you feel that what you’ve learned isn’t quite enough to tip the scales in your advantage. 

You continue reading them, all of the messages along the same caliber before you come across one that sticks out to you: 

We all appreciate your sacrifice. Without you, Ninjago would have been destroyed. I bet Cole really misses you. 

“Cole...” 

That’s the name that triggers something. You narrow your thoughts in on that portion, jumping off of the building and going to zip across the sky so you can think about it more clearly. 

For a moment, you simply let yourself fall. As you contemplate the name, your form dissipates into the snapping bands of wind around you. An image conjures within the back of your mind – a group of people, their tauntingly familiar faces eating away at that strange wall blocking something. 

“Who are they?” you wonder, pushing against that block harder. Even still, it tries to continue its lasting suppression. 

But you push even harder. 

And finally, like a dam... 

...it snaps, allowing heaps of memories to crash through all corners of your mind. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to process it all. You find yourself drifting aimlessly among the skies, sorting through all of the memories and trying to make sense of everything. 

But one thing is clear to you – you have to get back. You must find a way to return. 

But how? 

Your answer hits you a moment later, a mental image piecing together – one of a home long forgotten; a refuge that you had, at one time, known like the back of your hand. It makes sense that they would gather there, right? 

Mind set, you begin traveling in the direction of the monastery. 

… 

Cole sighs, yanking his mask off as the team enters the hangar bay. He runs a gloved hand through his sweaty, tangled hair, using the fabric of his mask to wipe away a few beads of sweat. Damn, he’s more out of practice than he thought. 

The others aren’t in any better shape, all sporting defeated expressions as the group processes what had just occurred. 

Lloyd is the first one to say what the entire team is thinking: “Ex-ninja? Old-timers? Who do they think they are?!” 

“The New Ninja of Ninjago City,” answers the uncaring voice of Zane. “And their arrival was fortuitous. Without their help, it is likely we would have been defeated. I calculate our odds⁠—” 

Zane is interrupted as a sudden sound pierces the relative silence of the background – something akin to a distant, shrill whistle. Had it come from within the walls? 

The team studies the ceiling for a moment, the sound droning on for a few more seconds before subsiding. 

“What was that?” Jay speaks up hesitantly, eyes nervously flicking back to the team. 

“Sounded like the wind,” Kai adds. “But...it wasn’t windy when we came inside, right?” 

“No, it wasn’t. Not to mention that we’re fully underground now,” Cole mutters. 

“I think it came from the vent. Everyone quiet down for a second,” Nya instructs, snatching a flashlight from one of the nearby tables. She approaches the vent, stare scrutinizing as she aims the beam of light inside. “Well, there’s nothing that I can see. But the draft is strong...stronger than it should be.” 

The group quiets down once more as the whistling returns, this time even louder. Nya shuts the flashlight off, backing away as the ninja ready themselves. 

The vent begins to shake violently, the whistling only increasing in volume. 

“Hangar bay sensors are detecting a breach in security,” Zane notes. 

“Did the sensors pick up any signs of life?” Jay questions. 

Zane shakes his head. “It is some kind of foreign entity. I cannot tell what exactly it is because the readings are unclear. Be ready.” 

This causes the group to quiet down, zeroing in on the vent. Moments later, something just...pours out of the opening. 

A pool of gray smoke puddles underneath the vent, the substance almost seeming...alive, in a way. 

“What the hell?” Kai mutters, stepping forward to observe it. “Is that...smoke? Why is it moving?” 

But something about the way the smoke is moving catches Cole off guard, leaving him to continue watching as the others start speculating. Something about it seems...familiar, in a strange way. 

That feeling only strengthens as the substance starts to mold itself into an anthropomorphic shape, bands of wind snapping together to form the same figure he hadn’t seen in a year. 

Cole crouches near the figure, catching the attention of the others as he says: “Guys...wait, look. It’s not smoke.” 

The earth elemental’s eyes remain locked on the figure as the wind finally finishes taking shape. Cole shoves his aching heart to the side as he whispers your name, gently testing the solidity of your form by pressing his hand against yours. 

Like last time, it passes through, but the interaction seems to catch your attention. You look up at him, the close angle giving Cole the perfect chance to study you. 

Despite being entirely composed of wind, he can still see your expression clearly; you’re straining yourself, trying to focus on speaking without breaking concentration. 

“C...Cole...?” you mumble, voice ethereal as your eyes widen slightly. “Is it...is it really you?” 

“Yes, yes, baby, it’s me,” Cole answers, tone almost frantic as he strains to listen to your quiet voice. Your form suddenly solidifies enough for him to touch you, allowing him to take you into his arms. 

“I...I r-remember now,” you stutter, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “I...need your help.” 

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need me to do. I’m here,” Cole replies, fingers covering yours. 

“There’s a...way back,” you explain, voice straining. “Need to drain...my powers...I c-can't hold this form-” 

Cole feels his heart lurch as two pairs of hands pull him away, eyes widening. “No, wait!” 

His objections fall on deaf ears as he watches your form turn from that translucent white to the signature, icy blue of Zane’s element. 

“Apologies, but freezing her was the only way to maintain her form,” Zane explains, stepping forward to study you. 

“She’s...she’s okay, right?” Cole wonders, your frozen body still on the floor. 

“Affirmative. In her gaseous state, she should experience no damage. She said she needed to drain her powers, yes?” 

“Yeah, that’s what she said, but...that’s impossible, right? There’s no way we can undo whatever spell she performed,” Cole responds, a hand on his forehead. 

“No. It's not. Kai had his powers taken away. Remember?” Lloyd interjects as Cole takes a moment to process what his teammates are saying. 

Kai nods, eyes downcast at the memory. “Yeah. I remember. Real well. And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking⁠—” 

The brunet’s suggestion causes Cole’s understanding to click into place. 

Aspheera. She can take away your power. She can save you. 

Cole frowns upon remembering that Aspheera is imprisoned, and it would be risky to break her out – especially with those new ninja prowling about. So many things could go wrong... 

...but if it worked? 

Then...you could come back. For good. 

Sensei Wu interrupts this time, having been unusually quiet during the ordeal. “That is out of the question. There has to be another way!” 

Lloyd approaches his uncle, coming to a sudden realization. “Master Wu. You spent the last year searching for a way to bring her back. Have you found anything? Anything at all?” 

The old man releases a hefty sigh, shaking his head. “I have not.” 

“Sensei...” Cole starts, approaching him with pleading eyes. “After all she did...for us, and for the city. This could be the only chance that we have to save her.” 

Through Wu’s firm glare, however, Cole takes note of the pain lurking underneath. The exhaustion of hunting for another way, the pain of losing one of his pupils. Even Wu is breaking, despite his next rejection: “This is a mistake! Aspheera can't be trusted! If we let her out of prison, even briefly, lives will be at risk. I...I cannot be a part of this.” 

“But, Uncle,” Lloyd argues, eyeing your fallen self. “Everyone is safer with her back!” 

“No doubt, this is going to be one of the riskiest missions we’ve ever decided to take,” Nya notes. “And whatever we decide to do...we have to decide as a team.” 

“So...are we still a team, then?” Cole wonders, letting the question linger momentarily. 

Everyone’s head turns to Lloyd, who proposes the decision: 

“All in favor of going after⁠—” 

Before he can even finish, the entire team has their hand raised. A sense of relief floods Cole as Lloyd nods, the gravity of the next mission settling in as everyone comes to understand what must be done. 

The blond nods as everyone lowers their arm. “Okay then. It's decided. We go get Aspheera, and save her.” 

With that, the group disperses after collectively deciding to try and ask the mayor for help first before jumping into any drastic decisions. As everyone goes to gear up, Cole takes the opportunity kneel next to you again. 

Tears line his eyes as he gently traces your fingers, wishing he can hold your hand, but scared of his body heat potentially speeding up the melting process. 

“Don’t worry about a thing, love,” he mumbles. “I don’t care what I have to do. I’m going to get you back.” 

… 

You can't move. 

No matter how much you try, you’re stuck – frozen, you think. The energy lacing the ice encasing you is familiar; it prevents you from losing your shape. You don’t think you’d be able to reassemble yourself if it melted due to the lack of elemental wind energy present in the bay. 

Your vision is completely covered in ice, unable to see anything clearly; silhouettes dip in and out of your vision, sometimes accompanied by muddled voices. If you listen closely enough, you can make out patches of what they’re saying if they’re close enough. 

The one you cling to most is Cole’s. He visits you when he can between missions, promising that he’s going to find a way to turn you human again. You wish he could stay with you longer, but are grateful that he’s working so hard to help you. 

You have no idea how much time has passed. For the most part, you just feel...cold. You yearn to regain your sense of touch, realizing that you’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like. 

At some point, you start to hear...shouting? You can’t quite discern who is speaking, but it seems as if the entire team has returned. More commotion ensues, to the point where you find yourself overwhelmed trying to understand what’s happening. 

But...something’s happening. 

A sharp vibration instantly snaps the ice off from around your figure, a string of purple light encompassing you. You’re forced off of the ground, a newfound energy clawing its way between you and your elemental power while your vision is completely flooded with purple light. Little by little, the wind that you had grown so accustomed to wielding starts dwindling. 

Part of you instinctively latches onto the bit that remains, but the immense power of the spell overwhelms your last bit of control on it. 

And then? Your wind is gone. Just like that. 

But...that’s not all. The purple abruptly stops, and a loud noise sounds from somewhere near you. A chorus of shouts echo within the bay as the spell releases you. 

Blinding lights are the first thing you notice, followed by your body crashing to the ground. The breath in your lungs (if there was any there to begin with) is knocked out, leaving you struggling to breathe. Your skin is burning with the remnants of the spell, paired with the sudden sense of solidity underneath you. 

You try to suck in a breath again, but your muscles still won’t obey you. 

Suddenly, someone is hovering above you. You realize Cole has swept you into his arms, and he’s trying to tell you something. 

“Breathe, baby, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he instructs, his voice an anchor of familiarity amidst the chaos of your surroundings. 

After a few tries, you’re able to inhale deeply. 

“That’s it, there you go. Keep breathing. You’re okay. You’re safe now,” he promises, his spearmint eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

“C...Cole...” you drawl, still trying to become reacquainted with your physical body. “Thank...thank you...” 

“I told you I’d do anything for you,” he mumbles, dropping his head so that he can press a soft kiss against your lips. You close your eyes, savoring that missed feeling of your lover against you. 

More voices – these unfamiliar – start speaking, causing Cole to shift his attention elsewhere. You watch as his expression morphs into one of disappointment, turning back to face you. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go,” he mumbles. “I’ll be back as fast as I can, but Skylor and Sensei are going to take care of you until we get things sorted out.” 

“No...p-please stay!” you choke out, now able to move your hand to clutch his. 

“Your friends are being arrested for breaking into Kryptarium Prison and freeing a felon!” announces some punk in a teal gi. “We don't have any reason to arrest you three. Yet. But I warn you: we're watching you. And if you give us any reason to even think you're following the ninja's example, we'll be back. And you will face the New! Ninja! Smoke bomb!” 

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Cole states with a sad smile. “We’ll figure something out, okay? I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you say as he releases your hand. 

With that, the ninja are taken away, leaving you with Skylor, Pixal, and Sensei Wu. Cole breathes a heavy sigh of relief, knowing that you’ve returned and will recover. 

“I hope it was worth it, criminal,” sneers the pink ninja. 

“It was,” Cole states, glancing back at you one last time before sharing a small, victorious grin with the team. “For her... I’d do anything.” 

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 :> 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗; 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘!

[mirl0-turdusmerula]

Been thinking a lot about where Kim would live pre-canon.

A tiny matchbox appartment in the Industrial Harbour.

So yeah, I wrote a ficlet. Slice of life / long ass description of a normal evening and Kim arriving home, making dinner, revising notes and doing Volta do Mar.

1200 words. Full text below the cut.

Midsummer night

The heavenly sound falls out as the motor carriage's engine comes to a stop. Inside the Precinct 57 garage, the Coupris Kineema stands out among the four other non-sports model MCs. Although different models, they all share the same blue paint and bear the corp's halogen white stripe across their side. The five of them also sleep there (guarded), to the Lieutenant's dislike. But he understands. Neither he nor his station can afford to be the object of street junior delinquency.

The Lieutenant steps out—end of the day.

He mutters a goodbye to the security guard and closes the Station's service door behind him. If it weren't for the white rectangular sign bearing the RCM initials and new motto ("Justice, Union, Prudence and Force"), this repurposed industrial warehouse could be mistaken for any of the similar buildings that surround it. The streets are wide and level, but the asphalt leaves almost no room for the sidewalk. He marches home late August evening, dodging vans, containers, and badly parked MCs trailers.

He makes a stop at a little green kiosk in the corner of an intersection, –"Evening, officer"– and buys the usual newspaper, and today too, a pack of 'Astras' (it is Friday). Back straight, steady voice, firm hands.

He finally arrives at his destined warehouse. Once housing an R&D department of the Feld-Electric company, its old-style brick atéliers have been repurposed into apartments.

Black mailboxes sit at the side of the main barred door. One of them, in the third row says: "Kim Kitsuragi". The Officer produces a key from a pocket in his aerostatic jacket's interior lining and unlocks the door. A long and narrow hallway extends before him, with storage rooms opening on either side. At the end of it, there is a not-too-dirty communal bathroom and a spiral metal staircase that leads to the upper floor. The Officer takes a quick detour to the communal bathroom, and his boots make a thump, thump noise as he comes up the stairs. He produces another key. This one is smaller and more intricate and unlocks a reinforced wooden door.

With a soft click he eases himself inside. The matchbook-sized room is orderly, bright, and well-kept. In just 6 by 2'5 meters, Kitsuragi's private life unfolds. Being a repurposed industrial atélier, the construction is sturdy: brick walls, exposed cables and plumbing, and hydraulic tiles floor, in the old-fashioned dideridada style. Opposite to the door, a grand paneled industrial window covers the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, where it bends and becomes a skylight.

Kitsuragi closes the door behind him and locks it. Two turns. Key left in the keyhole. Still on the doormat he takes off his uniform. Black heavy police boots, off. Orange aerostatic pilot jacket, off. Utility belt off. Under-arm holster and pistol off. Everything is neatly left on a shelf and some hooks beside the door.

Kitsuragi's bare feet make straight for the workbench on the left wall. On the shelf above it, is a Wowshi 12-Prefect two-way radio system for station calls. Long-cable headphones are firmly attached to the 4.5 mm port. The sound system is never used without the headphones, and the headphones never leave the room. He dones them, and the long chord follows him around the room. Kitsuragi presses the saved station button, and after a moment of static, he begins to hum half-consciously to the familiar sounds. The room is filled with ecstatic vibrations, totally translucent to the rest of the world.

He starts cooking dinner.

There is not a kitchen per se, but the original atélier's stainless steel sink and worktop, paired with a portable gas stove serves the purpose well. It also serves as a wash basin, in tandem with the mirror cabinet mounted to the wall next to it.

Rattling pots, a flame, boiling water. His foot taps along the beating pulses.

Kitsuragi leads a steaming plate of Samaran fast noodles to his wooden workbench (and only table) and sits in a rolling steel chair that probably came with the tenement. He sits crouched, one leg hugged and the other one hanging, headphones still on his head, although he has stopped the music. He is revising notes from his blue A6 Mnemonic, jotting down more nearly illegible lines, careful not to drop the spicy sauce on it. Filled (and yet to be filled) similar notebooks rest in boxes beside the table.

Above the workbench, a corkboard and some shelves. Pinned in the center, between other notes, is a map of Revachol West. Boroughs, streets, and motorways cut across the web of canals. It's up for display rather than reference. The 8/81 traverses Kim from the base of his column to the top of his skull.

On the shelves, Kim's quaint collection of hobbies: some Wirrâl dice, tiny franconigerian figurines, Jamrock Slam tabloids, some second-hand mechanical manuals, Jacob Irw's Tiptop Tournée racecar miniature, some sci-fci novellas… Most of these bric-à-bas are from the last few years when his higher lieutenant's salary allowed him some stability. With the raise also came a tiny black box that now sits in the corner, bearing a white halogen rectangle. Inside, a mémoire.

He lights an 'Astra Menthol', and absent-mindedly taps the ash onto a tray in between inhalings. The noodles grow cold as Kitsuragi writes and rewrites in his notebook. No crosswords for tonight. He doesn't mind, and his gaze certainly does not fall on the tiny black box.

Sometime later, when the Astra is consumed, the chair rolls back, and Kitsuragi stands and reignites the music. The multi-purpose pre-installed sink becomes the star of the room again. Dishes and then teeth. He does not have a personal shower (he uses the communal one in the morning), but fenilely takes advantage of his private faucet to wash off the usual dirt, sweat, and grime. Blood sometimes.

One last stretch and Kitsuragi sits legs-crossed on the steel-framed bed below the window. He takes off his glasses and headphones. No verres, no smokes, no music, no gloves. He settles down for Volta do Mar.

Y del trueno,

al son violento,

y del viento

al rebramar,

yo me duermo

sosegado

arrullado

por la mar.

(And from thunder, to the violent tone, and from the wind to the roar. I sleep, soothed, lulled, by the sea. )

It is an old boiadero song. Written by a man in the Plains who never saw the sea, now popular among entroponauts who long for the day they see the open sky again.

Outside the window, the summer sun is setting down in the Great Industrial Harbour, and the low rumble of cranes and lorries is slowly fading out. A shimmer in between two eternite rooftops: the sea. The sound of cargoships horns arriving at the port and the screeching of seagulls. Smoke rising from the chimneys fades into lazy clouds. High above, the sound of rotors and the beams of floodlights. Although Kim is not able to see the Coalition airships, he is acutely aware of their presence.

An empty pot on the windowsill. No flowers grow here anymore.

Kim's breathing steadies, his chest rising and falling as the sunlight recedes and the stars appear. Invisible, obscured by the helium streetlights. Next to him, a nightstand and two objects on top: a pair of hyperopia diamond-shaped glasses, and a single-shot Kiejl A9 Armistice. Loaded.

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights prompt enemies to lovers/opposite sides of a conflict? Depending on how serious the conflict is, it can be fluffy or angsty :)

The lights flicker above his head. Danny swallows roughly, trying to quiet his breathing as much as possible. It would be so much easier if he could just stop breathing completely, to use his powers to disappear from sight, slip around the rest of them and take them all out. 

His palms are sweating. Taking another steadying breath, Danny tightens his grip on the gun, shifting just slightly where he’s crouched, hidden out of sight. 

He can’t hear anything beyond his own rapid heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The Bats thrive in silence and darkness, and this messy warehouse with its stacked shelving units is full of places for them to hide, waiting for him to cross their sights. 

There’s no one left to help him.

Danny’s on his own. 

No powers, he tells himself firmly. He has to do this as a regular human. The Bats will know otherwise, and he can’t risk it. Just remember what Mom taught you.

The lights flicker again, then go out completely. 

Now! 

Danny springs away from his hiding spot, searching the darkness for any movement. The Bats like to go up high, so he follows suit, sticking close to a wall as he scales his way up a shelving unit. Every moment sounds so loud, like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and the back of his neck prickles with the feeling of being watched. 

He was never going to out run them. He can’t hide from them. The least he can do is take out as many of them as he can before they shoot him down.

His only saving grace is that Black Bat isn’t here. Last he saw, she was heading down a different street, chasing someone else. As long as he makes his move before she returns, there’s still a chance he can get out of the warehouse and try to escape them again. 

The clouds above Gotham drift apart, allowing the pale moonlight to shine down on the city. Moonlight streams in through the large windows and Danny moves to stay in the shadows, as out of sight as he can manage. He keeps moving, refusing to stay still; if they want to get him, then he’s going to do all he can to make it as difficult as possible. 

The top of the shelving unit is steady. Danny keeps one hand out, close to the wall, as he creeps across it, looking out over the entire warehouse. 

He’s close to the entrance now. All he has to do is drop down and run, and then he’s back out in the streets, no longer trapped in an enclosed space with some Bats. 

Danny reaches the edge of the shelving unit and prepares to jump when he sees a movement in the corner of his eye. Reacting instinctively, he throws himself out into the air, twisting to aim his gun at the flash of purple tucked against the side of a shelf. 

He shoots, one shot after the other, until he lands on the ground in a messy roll. 

Spoiler curses as she ducks away, sending a few return shots of her own, but with her hiding behind the shelf, taking cover. “Just give up!” she shouts at him, “We’ll get you sooner or later!”

“You were supposed to be on my side!” he returns, firing another shot before turning on his heel to sprint away.

“Plans change! Now I have a reason to take you down.”

Which means Black Bat got a hold of Spoiler earlier and got her to change allegiances. It must have been right before he reached the warehouse, still believing Spoiler to be on his side and frantically having to dodge her attacks before they lost each other in the labyrinth of the warehouse. 

So, that’s another person after his head. 

The streets are quiet, a rare treat in Gotham. He’s the only one out, running through the streets like his life depends on it. No doubt Spoiler is right behind him, determined to take him down. He hasn’t seen any of the others for a while, but they have to be somewhere in the area. 

Danny ducks into an alley and scrambles up a fire escape. At least out in the open air, he can pass off a few impossible jumps as being really good at free running. 

He runs, crossing a few streets, and throws himself into a roll, hiding behind an AC unit when he hears more gunshots. 

From the cursing accompanying it, Red Hood must be near.

That’s good. That’s someone who is (presumably) still on his side. 

He follows the noise to the top of a bakery, where he catches a glimpse of a disgruntled looking woman scowling from the window. He offers her a sheepish grin as he climbs by the window, her startled jump turning into rolled eyes as she closes the blinds.  

He gets to the top of the bakery just in time to watch Red Hood pick up Robin and throw him at Nightwing, who drops his gun in order to catch the kid. Taking his chance, Danny crouches on the edge of the roof and aims.

Nightwing falls to the side to avoid it, but he doesn’t manage it in time. Robin takes the hit, still held by Nightwing and unintentionally used as a shield.

“Oops,” Nightwing says as Robin scowls and brings out a shuriken, trying to stab Nightwing in retaliation.

“Nice one, kid,” Red Hood says. He offers Danny a high five, which he happily returns.

The moment lasts for only a second before another shot rings out and Red Hood stumbles forward with a curse, a splatter of yellow paint on his back. 

The Signal swings by, scooping Danny up with an arm around his waist. Red Hood moves to follow, but Nightwing is on him again, their fight beginning again as Robin hops off the roof and disappears from sight.

“Let go!” Danny demands, trying to wiggle out of the Signal’s grip.

“No can do. I’m winning this. My share of Alfred’s cake depends on this.”

Unfortunately for the Signal, Danny’s share of Alfred’s cake also depends on his victory. He’s already got a few points by getting shots in on the other team, small splatters of white paint decorating their costumes, but not as much as the others. He’s also got paint all over him, mostly black and blue, but the game doesn’t end until the Point Person (Danny for his team, Damian for the other) is taken to the other team’s base.

Danny’s team set up their base on the thrift store at the end of their designated game area. He has no idea where Duke’s team has their base, and he doesn’t intend to find out any time soon.

“Sorry,” he says, then shoves a foot between Duke’s legs to slam his heel against a pressure point just below the knee. 

The Signal bites back a pained yell and hits the roof hard. They both go rolling across it, carried by the momentum of his swing. To add insult to injury, Danny gets back to his feet and shoots Duke point blank in the chest, then makes another run for it.

“No you don’t!” he hears Signal yell from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. 

Danny jumps, making it onto the next roof, adrenaline rushing through him. He tries to find a way back to his team’s base, but the Signal doesn’t let him past, trapping him in. They dodge paint bullets from each other, moving back and forth as if dancing.

And because Danny has abysmal luck, he trips over his own feet when the Signal lunges at him and he tries to spin away from him. 

“Woah!” 

The Signal drops his gun to catch Danny, pulling him close and steadying him. Danny clutches to the Signal’s arms, his own gun pointed off to the side awkwardly. They end up pressed together, barely any space between their faces. 

They’re frozen there for a moment, staring at each other. This close, Danny can see through the visor of the Signal’s helmet, and Duke’s eyes are just as wide as his. 

“Caught you,” Signal breathes, and Danny’s gaze drops down to his lips. 

He’s sure his own feelings are clear and on display in the moment, but he can’t help it. They may be on opposing teams, but a hero is a hero and being saved by the Signal never fails to make danny’s heart skip a beat. 

He really needs to get his head in the game. He needs to push the Signal away and try to get back to his own team. He needs to win so he can steal Duke’s share of Alfred’s cake. 

The Signal tightens his grip on Danny’s waist and leans in just a little, barely noticeable.

But Danny notices.

Fuck it, he thinks. 

Before he can overthink it, before his nerve get the better of him, before anyone swings by and interrupts, Danny closes the distance between them and kisses Duke. 

It’s just a soft, small peck. He pulls back almost immediately, cheeks flushed red, but doesn’t go far before Duke is kissing him again and again and again.

“Now is not the time, lover birds!” Spoiler shouts. They startle apart, giddy grin on their faces. Danny turns to see her land on the roof with her hands on her hips, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and knows that neither of them are going to live this down any time soon. Nightwing and Red Hood follow soon after, trying to tackle each other, and almost bowl over Spoiler as Red Robin takes the opportunity to pop up out of nowhere, Black Bat on his tail, to shoot at Spoiler.

With all of them distracted, Danny shares a smile with Duke then darts back in for another kiss. 

Then he pulls back, shoots Signal again, and takes off with a laugh.

The game’s not over yet, but that’s not going to stop him from feeling like a winner anyways.

He is going to get that cake, though. Losing is not an option with Alfred’s baking on the line. Crush or not, Duke is going down.

[amsgrey]

Blind Date

Halstead reader x Jay halstead

Requested

Warnings: bad writing. misogynistic comments.

Synopsis: Your date goes horribly and Jay thinks it's the funniest thing ever.

Note to self; never let Gallo set you up a blind date again. Never, ever let him within 50 feet of your dating life. And while you are at it, make sure Violet and Ritter get what's coming for their peer pressure in all of this.

"You know," Violet said, sitting down next to you at the table one shift, "One of us has to have a successful dating life and it might as well be you."

You turned and scowled at her, "Why me?"

Violet grinned, "Gallo is a lost cause and Ritter is, well, Ritter."

The two sitting across from you looked up from their plates and made mumbled protests. Violet shooed her hand at them, shutting them up. She turned back to you and started rattling off ideas to find you a date.

"What about a blind date?" Ritter said in passing, grinning as you scowled at him.

"I know the perfect guy! I went to the academy with him," Gallo said, growing excited in his typical Gallo way.

You screwed up your nose in disgust, "When has a blind date ever been a good experience?"

"Blind dates are fun!" Gallo protested.

Hermann gave Gallo an incredulous look as he walked by, muttering about Gallo's stupidity.

You laughed, "I'm with Hermann on this."

Ritter shrugged, trying to hide his grin, "Hey, maybe it will be fun. You never know until you actually go."

-

Oh, man were those three going to pay the next shift. You were sitting opposite one of the stupidest firefighters you had ever met. You spent the entire first half of the meal listening to him recount how he had made the record at the academy for whatever, you had almost completely zoned him out.

You were both finishing your meal when he finally asked something about you, "So you work at Firehouse 51 right?"

"Yea-"

"Man!" He interrupted, "That house has so many rumours! Don't you all live together or something?"

"Uh, I mean I guess?"

"Yeah, my house is super tight too, we'd die for each other ya know?" He launched into a recounting of when he almost died in a warehouse fire. Does this man ever stop talking about himself?

You finally finished your meal when he wrapped up his story. The young waitress came over and asked how your meal was, "Are y'all after the dessert menu?"

"No," You said at the same time your date said yes.

He laughed awkwardly, you completely ignored him.

"No, thank you," You clarified for the waitress, "Thank you though."

She returned with the bill after a few more moments, which you split and started to get ready to leave. Your date was almost dragging his feet, you regretted letting him pick you up.

"So, you and Gallo went to the academy at the same time?" You asked as you got into his passenger seat.

"Yeah!" He grinned, "Gallo and I were head to head during the academy, expected him to make squad already."

You nodded, "I'm sure he will soon," You and Gallo talked about making Squad a lot, both of you actively trying to pursue it, "We train together a lot."

Your date laughed, "You train for Squad?"

You frowned, "Yeah? Severiade said I have a real chanc-"

"Ha! Yeah right, a women firefighter on squad?"

You stared at him in awe, "What's wrong with that?"

He looked over at you as he realized you were offended, "Look, you have to be honest. The only reason female firefighters exist is that the academy lowered the physical standards and woke culture at work."

It took you a few seconds to actually process what he said. When you did, you replied, "Ok yeah. Uh, Pull over, now."

"What? Why?"

"Pull over!" You demanded, "Let me out now."

He pulled to the side of the street, watching with a frown as you got out of his car and grabbed your bag, "Take this as a no to a second date."

You slammed the door and started walking down the street. Never let a date pick you up, that was your second mistake. The first mistake was letting Gallo near your dating life.

You pulled out your phone, opening the group chat you Gallo, Ritter and Violet were in.

Blind dates are the worst, I hate you, Gallo.

You watched Ritter and Violet immediately respond with laughing emojis. You ignored the conversation and opened your phone to see if Jay was working. You knew there was a good chance he would be working, but if he was too busy you could always try Will.

"Halstead," Jay answered the phone after three rings.

"Do you not check Caller ID?"

You could hear the pause as Jay rolled his eyes, it was your greeting now. "What do you want?"

You giggled, "Are you at work?"

"Yeah, sitting in the Bullpen, why?"

"Any chance you can come get me? I'm stranded." You said sheepishly.

"Stranded?" He asked.

"Gallo set me up on a blind date and I couldn't be around that prick anymore so, I walked out," You explained, bracing yourself for his response.

"Who goes on blind dates anymore?" He chuckled, clearly trying to hide how amused he was.

"Don't be mean," You heard Hailey in the background.

"Yeah! Don't be mean to your little sister who is stranded in downtown Chicago in the middle of the night," You replied.

"Alright, Alright," Jay sighed, "Where are you?"

You relayed your location to him, rattling off the street signs around you.

"Okay, just stay there, Hailey and I will be there in ten."

You sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket and crossed your arms over your chest. There was no way you would hear the end of this from anyone in intelligence. You could already hear Ruzek and Atwater's jokes about how terrible an idea blind dates were.

You were about to text Jay and ask him where he was, when you heard police sirens from a few streets over.

Please, lord no.

The black police car came around the corner much slower than was necessary, you could see Jay grinning like the Cheshire cat through the windscreen. The few people who were on the street looked over at the commotion, you could feel their stares as Jay did a U-turn and pulled up beside you.

He turned off the sirens, climbing out of the car.

"What are you doing out here alone, young lady?"

"Jesus Christ, Jay," You sighed, smacking his chest, "Do you make everything in a commotion?"

"Ma'am, did you just assault my partner?" Hailey called from the passenger seat.

You threw your hands up, "I should have just walked home!"

[werewolfnightwalker]

Ghosts

CW: past dabihawks, angst, feels, post-war

---

Hawks knew every nook, cranny, and back alley in the city. Be it from patrols, investigations, missions, or just exploration, he could direct a civilian to a store halfway across town from memory- which was something he did surprisingly often. It was a useful skill, especially when he was chasing villains through the streets and remembered a short cut, or sleuthing out where stolen goods were stashed.

He'd made a lot of fond memories on those streets; interactions with fans that stuck with him, quiet afternoons in some little cafe he happened across, even some fights that he looked back on with a smile.

But he made just as many bad memories, too; he remembered all the places where he'd been grievously injured, where horrific attacks had occurred that left him feeling sick in the aftermath, and even places where he'd lost people, be they civilians, sidekicks, or fellow heroes.

Then there were places that were just... painful. Places he'd cross the street to avoid on patrol routes, if he could. Places he couldn't look at, that he didn't like to talk about. Places where the memories were once magical, and were now cursed.

And all of them were places he'd visited with Dabi.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the bus station they'd shared their first kiss at, when they'd been hiding from the downpour that came out of nowhere.

The bookstore they met in on one winter day, because it was too cold to meet on a rooftop or in a warehouse, like they usually did. The exchange of intel had devolved when Dabi spied a book he was apparently fond of.

"Haven't read it in years though." He'd said. If Hawks had happened to purchase it and slip it into the villain's coat later, well...

There was an entire street that he avoided, or at least passed very, very quickly, because that was where he and Dabi had spent an entire night just... having fun, at a street festival. Hawks swore on his feathers that he could still smell yakisoba and fry oil when he passed it, hear the cheerful music of a street band and the laughter of children from when they'd strolled, hand in hand past all the games and stands.

It was where Dabi had first leaned over, as they rode the slow moving ferris wheel, and whispered in his ear that he loved him.

He could deal with those places, though. He just passed them by, averted his gaze, and kept moving forward. He planned his patrols around avoiding them when he could, hunched his shoulders, and bore the memories in silence.

It was worse when there were ghosts, though. On really bad nights, when he was just trying to finish up and go home, a mere trick or the light or overpowering memory brought him to tears at those places.

He turned his watery eyes away from the alley behind a bar where he could all but see himself and Dabi, dancing to the music pumping from the building. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see (trying not to remember) Dabi's smile, the sound of him humming along to the music as they spun around.

It wasn't real. He knew it wasn't. It was just the red and blue lights of the bar's sign, and the sound of the music that had played that same night. There was nothing in that alley but garbage bins and bags. Nothing but trash.

He picked up his pace, drawing the collar of his jacket closer in to his face until the soft wool brushed his scarred jaw.

It wasn't real, he repeated as he saw himself and Dabi, smoking outside the now burned-out remains of an old building where they'd been ambushed by thugs.

The sickly smell of cigarettes and blood weren't really lingering in the air, nor was Dabi's question about going to get a bite to eat, despite the injuries they'd sustained.

Still, he was borderline jogging as he passed the 24-hour diner where they'd crashed, pretending he wasn't able to so easily see them sitting in the booth by the window together, nursing coffee and scratches.

It wasn't real.

It never had been.

The memories were real, sure. The feelings and locations, they were all real. But it- they- hadn't been real. They never were.

They never could be.

//End. Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, consider leaving me a tip!

[cartoon-buffoon]

Here's a Cartoon Cat' fanfic idk if I'll post on my AO3 so semi-exclusive story, btw this is inspired by my favorite stories of all time and a song. If you can somehow guess which story and which song you get a gold star for doing a goods.

TW for: gore and body horror

Reruns

Throughout all of time it had gone long undisturbed. What lurked behind a friendly cartoon cat's smile was a nothing more than sinister force that loved to indulge in the fear and havoc it could wreck. With powers beyond mortal comprehension it had no competition, it reigned supreme at the top of the food chain with not one to challenge it. Using these powers it was at first content with the simple disappearances that it would make, people here and there who went down dark alleys, abandoned crossroads, desolate malls, old warehouses, all of them suddenly vanishing without a trace. Picking people off, dragging them away screaming, and torturing them while it ripped them apart was fun but eventually that grew boring for the faux feline. It craved more, more and more which it consumed and caused chaos. Soon entire neighborhoods vanished, bloodstains and body parts laying in homes where the residents should be. From neighborhoods it advanced to entire towns, thousands gone just like that. Towns turned to cities, cities turned to counties, counties to states, states to regions, by the time an entire area suddenly went dead a mass hysteria infected the world. Mortals assumed the apocalypse was upon them and they'd be right, once its presence was known it need not hide anymore.

That was the fun part for it, once everybody knew of the Cartoon Cat as something more than just urban legend or myth it grew bold. Dashing through streets and populated areas it grew hands and arms out of its back in order to snatch man, women, child, animal, all that crossed its path in order to shove them down its gullet. At one point it even ceased to feed, it opted to just bite down on the skulls of its prey popping their heads sending skull fragments and blood across the pavement only to discard the rest of the bodies like trash. It didn't need food anymore, it merely killed for the sport and thrill of it, thrill of seeing the vain attempts to run or fight, it's absolute favorite was when it couldn't spot anybody out in the open. That's where the real game began. With the mortals getting smart they hid to the best of their abilities, trying not to be found and maybe outlast this entity posing as a black cat that made mincemeat out of the people they knew. One by one over the span of only a few years all their hopes and dreams were crushed though, each who hid was found with the Cartoon Cat spending extra time to make their deaths as painful as possible, a sort of reward for making the game just so entertaining. Like all things though the game had to come to an end, with no more mortals or animals the world fell into ruin. With the mortal's death soon the other cryptids who stalked the earth died out, without life to feed from they starved and perished. With no mortals left, no games to play, no fear to strike into people, the same too was happening to the Cartoon Cat. It was the very things it killed that kept it intact, its demented existence was kept alive by those who acknowledged its existence.

At the end of all there was naught to do but be consumed by the hollow rot and bloodlust that he used to consume the mortals.

It sat on where it originally called home, the abandoned mall which it used to lurk. With all humans gone nature had reclaimed it as well as most of the rest of earth. Vines creeped up the side and trees sprouted from the foundation, gazing at a setting sun the Cartoon Cat couldn't help but find irony in the one thing having the last laugh and outliving it was the very ground it walked on. The ground it smeared with the blood of billions. Alas it wasn't completely alone though, after all while most cryptids did rely on a food source there were creatures like it who either held a purpose or relied on belief to keep them alive. While not all of them were extra dimensional the mortals roughly classified those they deemed otherworldly or alien as "Patron Saints", while The Cartoon Cat itself was deprived of such a title for being "too evil" that didn't stop them from grouping it in with the rest. It was one of those who it was grouped in with which showed up as its time was nearing the end. The patron saint of guiding lost souls and a bearer of warning decided to pay the thing who ruined the lives of the mortals it tried to warn a visit, the Long Horse as it was aptly named. Its neverending infinite neck climbed up the building and it held its head up beside The Cartoon Cat, staring at it with its empty sockets.

This sure was a surprise to the cat, it was acquainted with the skull headed creature but it could hardly call it a friend. The Long Horse spent a good deal of its existence warning the mortals of The Cartoon Cat, but now there was no one left to warn. They were polar opposites but in the end it didn't really matter, nothing mattered considering they were both dying. The feline glanced at the creature out of the corner of its eye and saw this clear as day. Fractures and cracks had accumulated onto its skull, its spine that held up its skull looked brittle like the smallest bit of force could break the bone. The cat contemplated doing this, ending the thing that would ruin its meals here and now, but there would be no satisfaction in it, no fight to justify the kill, besides time would soon rapture them itself.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything"

The age old proverb of misery coming in 3s proved right. An uninvited guest made his presence known as he walked up to the two other cryptids, the individual in question being the patron saint of havoc and disaster. Negativity itself embodied into the form of a sharply dressed man with his face twisted upside down. His tone was smug and while the two showed signs of rot the man with the upside down face showed no signs of being affected, although his time on earth as it stood was too coming to an end. Despite this his tone was smug, seeing the two once powerful creatures weak before him made him absolutely giddy.

"Pardon my lateness I was checking up on the others, safe to say it's just us three left: the maggots lurking in underpasses all shriveled up and died, beak-face offed himself by ripping out his halo to open a gateway for his followers to only-he-knows, roady passed away in some animal graveyard, the big fella and his spawn huddled up before they faded, heck even that ol' siren's flesh rusted right off his bone" the man's twisted smile grew wider, the taste of their death's fresh on his tongue "oh you should of been there! I'm sure you would of loved to see it"

The Cartoon Cat remained silent, still staring out at the sunset. It didn't have words to spare, certainly none to that upside down headed bottom feeding leech.

This silence provoked the man to take another step forward, his shoes clacking against the mall's roof "oh come on, do you really got nothing for me smiley? Don't tell me you're scared of death now" the man's eyes fixated on the cat, trying to garner any sort of reaction as he spoke "I guess that's why they call you a pussycat for a reason"

If it was a reaction the man wanted it would be a reaction he would get. Even in its rotting state the Cartoon Cat held enough power to wipe that smile off the man's face. Turning to face him it bared stained teeth, its gums leaking blood from its maw.

It was at this point the Long Horse intervened, stretching in-between the two it acted as a barrier as both of its sockets on the side of its skull bore into the two cryptids.

"Oh come on skelly, don't you see this entire thing is his fault, what's he got to cry over?" The man with the upside down face brought a hand up to his mouth, trying to cover his mouth as he snickered "oh it just drives me WILD how much I can feel your pity for smiley over there! Even as you're about to die you hold no anger or rage towards the very thing that brought us all to our doom, it's comical really..."

The Cartoon Cat's flesh began to droop off its form as it stood and turned to face the man with his face upside down. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air and it hunched over, ready to strike at the patron saint who was trying to get a last meal out of both their emotions.

"Look at you" The man continued "Standing there with your sickly looking self, I do got to hand it to you though, I'm surprised your body hasn't caved in on itself yet, you using the last bit of power you have to stay awake?"

The Long Horse extended itself further into the air, its spine creaking and cracking in a way no bone should. Although it remained silent a strong gust of wind blew across the area making the man's tie flutter. It was a warning.

"hehehe...." The warning was met with laughter, the man was absolutely reveling in the moment and ignored Long Horse, looking over across towards the decaying cryptid "I thought you were stronger than this, are you really having the pacifist stand up for you? This is a new low for you truly-"

The wind picked up, the breeze growing stronger with each word the man said.

"Maybe if you used your brain instead of your stomach you'd realize this would be the end goal of your little massacre, but you didn't ever think of that did you? Instead all you thought about was satisfying that unquenchable thirst to kill but now you left yourself, and everyone high and dry, a desert without an oasis"

Gusts of air tried to drown out what the man with the upside down face was saying, but he knew all too well the cat could hear him. He continued, his tone more condescending by the second.

"Acting as if you deserve anything else other than this, you've reaped what you've sowed and that's the souls of all you saw, I may be throwing stones in a glass house here yet it takes one to know one which is why I can safely say you're nothing but a sad little speck from the void who wanted to hide behind some fake face in order to turn this world into your little playground"

"ENOUGH"

The Long Horse's voice echoed throughout the air, traveling on the wind as it fell onto the man and cat's ears. The deep, hoarse tone made the mall shake and the man go silent, although a pacifist and a creature of benevolence it had grown fed up with the mockery. What came around went around, karma physically manifesting as blood the man puked up.

Falling to his knees the man spoke through grit teeth, his smile morphing into a scowl "I see the truth isn't very welcome here, fine then" he stood up and fixed his tie "I'll be off now since I'm clearly unwanted, I hope that little stunt of yours was worth it skelly seeing as you don't got much life left in you" walking away the man couldn't help but get the last laugh in, taking a quick glance back at the rotting feline he uttered his words of departure "after everything is said and done I look forward to seeing you in the abyss... if we don't forget ourselves that is, until next time Cartoon Cat". The man's words were laced with venom, mocking the name that the cryptid chose for itself.

With that he was gone, vanishing into thin air leaving the only other two cryptids alive behind.

The two soon becoming one, The Long Horse's borrowed time was all spent up hurting the man with the upside down face. The cracks on it deepened and its spine turned to dust, its skull landing right in the hands of the Cartoon Cat.

The Cartoon Cat stared at the patron saint that lay in its palms, the horse's body and connection to the earth severed. It didn't know whether the creature was still alive or if the skull was merely the remains of that wish used to plague it, either way it couldn't help but embrace the skull. The cat's body was and time was coming to an end, the form it took destabilizing. Ovular pupils struggled to maintain their shape, they dilated growing wider and wider until the sclera was consumed by the pupil, eyes now pure white. With blurred vision the Cartoon Cat couldn't see the body it had made for itself, but maybe that was for the better because it sure could feel it. Blood and pus oozed out of every orifice on its body, mouth, eyes, even the pores that lined its body soon secreted a foul smelling combination of liquid that signified its decay. The skin it had started to sag off molded bones, its face particularly coming undone revealing the hideous visage of what truly lurked behind the mask. Not one would be left to view it though, instead all that there would be was silence. While it still had time left and the sounds of death dripped off his form it's mind began to ponder what it could of done differently.

It was too late now but it still wondered out of curiosity, perhaps the curiosity could have saved it if it ever considered the different options. Maybe it could have existed as a purely fear based entity, instead of downright killing mortals it could have given them a good scare, feed off that fear. Another idea was instead of killing humans directly it could have taken a page of that leech's book and be an omen that would cause disasters, toppling over skyscrapers or collapsing bridges, killing people that way. Maybe malice wasn't the road, maybe it could have avoided its current predicament if it was a bit more kind to the mortals it so eagerly killed. It could have been one of the few cryptids revered as something good, a savior to humanity, a patron saint which lived up to its name. Helping mortals advance, defending them against other entities that wished to feed off them. It could have gained just as much if not more attention by being kind to the mortals, instead of latching onto their nostalgia and using its form to harm it could have been a proper cartoon cat using their positive emotions rather than the negative ones to maintain on earth. All those ideas passed through its mind but it couldn't help but feel that no matter what it did the ending would be the same, even if given a second chance to repent it's body would still be melting into a putrid pile of meat. As its senses dulled and it could no longer feel the Long Horse's skull in its hands it knew death had come for it, or at least for its body that it inhabited.

Death or the death of its body was cold, not frigid but cold nonetheless, the feeling was almost familiar in a way. Despite its body finally rotting and its eyes closing for what would be the final time somehow it maintained its senses. It could still smell, hear, see, feel, taste, but all of them were numbed to the point it couldn't pick up on anything exact. What it could see though was an ever expanding black that stretched out for miles, a complete and utter void with nothing but itself alone in it, alone with a deafening silence. It wondered if this is truly where it came from, it had been so many years since it fashioned that form for itself that it had forgotten what the abyss was like, was this where it originated from? It doubted it strongly, although an abyss would be an apt description of what it saw it knew whatever it was in wasn't that. It still clung onto the memories of who it was instead of having all that stripped away, it was in a weird in-between. A limbo, a line where neither death nor life treaded, where time meant nothing and space was but a mere concept. Of course the only other thing was the silence, the silence which allowed it to be alone with its thoughts for what would be an eternity.

Or at least, that's what it assumed.

No, by some miracle it seemed this wouldn't be all that existence had in store for it. A voice broke through the silence and drew its attention, what would have been death was interrupted by the unsure words of man. A man who sounded confused and scared, an all to mortal emotion.

"Hello? Anybody here?"

Its eyes opened back up to find not its body rotten and diseased but instead perfectly intact. Yellow eyes glowed in the dark allowing it to see everything in clear view, the scenery was that of its mall before nature took over, before its global massacre. Down the hall shined what one could only assume was a flashlight of someone intruding on the space it took shelter in. It didn't know how, why, but it nonetheless knew that in some way it was brought back to either before its giant mistake or to a new world entirely. That didn't matter though, what mattered was doing something different this time around. Standing up and letting its long body graze the ceiling it emerged from its corner and towards the mortal. All those ideas that had ran through its head while it died were quickly forgotten, one idea prevailing among them.

"Huh? What's that?"

A grin formed across its face going from ear to ear. The end would be the same now matter what it did, so as it stepped into the light it knew what it would do instead.

"Wha-... What the fuck..."

With a newfound appreciation for the mortals it hunted it would take time this run around. After all this run wouldn't be that different, bones would break, skin ripped clean off, tears of those who begged for mercy would fall on the ground.

"Oh god... OH GOD!"

As it lunged forward ready to make the mortal suffer it knew the exact process this time around. It would savor each and every kill it came across, prolonging and allowing the mortals to eventually kill themselves off while it would take a singular one each time it pleased, drawing out their suffering as much as possible. It would savor the kill instead of letting greed force its hand to slaughter everything. After all, it was just one big rerun…

A rerun of its favorite episode.

[vellaphoria]

14. Is there a character or ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind?

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

👀👀

3. NoTP?

Thanks for the ask!!! <3 I'm gonna do this out of order so that the fic excerpt can go beneath the cut 14. Ironically, DickTim XD When I first started in this fandom I was strictly in the Dick & Tim tag. This was at a point where there just wasn't very much there though, so eventually I ran out of content and tripped face-first into DickTim. Then I ran out of content in that tag and decided that the only way to stay sane was to learn how to write more of what I wanted to read

3. That's a bit of a tough one for DC, since I tend to just be uninterested in most of the ships. Though I personally have a strong aversion towards Joker x Harley (or whatever the ship name is). It's just not my thing :P 6. An excerpt from the Recursion epilogue/followup that I'm gonna finish someday:

Most of the equipment isn’t salvageable. And what is salvageable isn’t exactly transportable.

All in all, he leaves the warehouse with a flash drive full of blueprints, his Red Robin gear, his bike, and the bag he’s been living out of for longer than he really wants to think about. 

Still, there’s an exhilaration to traveling light, taking barely anything with him as his motorcycle speeds down semi-empty streets. The neon drenched backdrop of Gotham flies past him in a blur. He takes each turn too fast. He feels alive. 

At the junction that would take him to the outskirts of the city and Wayne Manor, he nearly takes a wrong turn, forgetting for a moment that Dick hasn’t set up shop there for a long while now. Some backtracking later and he finds the correct turn-off, bringing his bike down into the tunnels that run beneath the city. 

When he finally pulls into what serves as the Bunker’s garage, Dick is already waiting for him. He lurks at the edge of the room, looking uncertain about trying to approach as Tim removes his helmet and shoulders his bag.

He’d stuck to civilian clothes on the way here; jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a beat-up leather jacket to keep out the wind as he rode.

Dick seems to have had the same idea. The sweatpants and threadbare t-shirt suggest that he came straight down from the penthouse. 

It feels strange to see each other without layers of kevlar and nomex between them. At least when it's this them, here and now.

In the present, he hasn't seen Dick look so casual since before Batman's disappearance became well known and Gotham became a living hell. In those days, they were all but living in their suits, ready to go at a moment's notice. 

Tim is pretty sure that he's been going at nearly that pace ever since. And, from the dark circles beneath his eyes, he suspects that Dick has as well. Back on that rooftop, he hadn't had enough emotional distance from the situation to see how Dick looks just as exhausted as Tim feels.

He gets off the bike, stashing it in an open spot. It isn't until he removes his bag from the back of the bike that Dick approaches.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, quietly. When he smiles, it's faint, and a little sad.

“You too," Tim says.

He steps closer, not entirely sure what he's intending to do. 

Dick doesn't seem to know either. But he opens his arms, just a bit, and-

The hug is a careful, fragile thing. Threaded through with the knowledge that a single wrong move could shatter them. Still, when he tries to pull back, the arms around him tighten as Dick keeps him pressed against his chest. 

Tim lets him. It feels good to be close. To have Dicks’ hands on him, despite the context. 

There are some nights when he wants to rage at him, throwing objects and insults across the room to try and find some way to make everything make sense. But then there are the nights when all he wants is this: to be wrapped in Dick’s arms, feeling nothing but the strength of his muscles and warmth of his skin. 

Tim gives in, leaning into it, pressing his own hands into Dick’s back. 

There’s a kiss against his forehead, then his temple.

“I missed you,” Dick says, against his ear. 

“Missed you too,” Tim whispers back. 

When they finally pull apart, it almost feels like it's too soon. His body aches with the phantom feeling of being held.

The deceptively simple solution here would be to take Dick's hand and lead him upstairs. It would be so easy to say that he doesn't want to be alone tonight, to ask Dick for his company and for whatever else he'd be willing to give.

Dick can be very giving when he's trying to make something up to someone.

But… no.

Tim said they would talk about this, and he doesn't quite trust himself to let himself have this again without first untangling the mess in which they've caught themselves. 

So he stays content with the way that Dick’s hand cups his face, lingering a moment before he turns to lead Tim further into the Bunker. 

He saw the blueprints back when Bruce was first having the place built, but he never saw the finished product. It looks very efficient. While the Bat Cave was adapted to fit the space, The Bunker was clearly built from the ground up with a vigilante operation in mind. Everything fits together like clockwork, with some notable exceptions.

There are strategically placed empty spaces. They pass by two work benches full of half-finished projects and a third that’s entirely empty. A row of storage lockers is meticulously labeled, with the exception of the one to the right of the one labeled for Dick’s personal use. 

When he glances at Dick, it’s clear that he’s very purposely not looking at any of them. Trying to not call attention to it. 

The implication of it all makes something in Tim ache a little. For all that his reasons for leaving were justified…

They have a lot to talk about. (asks are from this post)

[bl00dstain3d-darlingg]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡

The world had fallen into chaos after the outbreak of a deadly virus that had swept across the globe, decimating entire populations and leaving the survivors to fend for themselves in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The once bustling cities now lay in ruins, with crumbling buildings and overgrown streets haunted by the echoes of a world that had been lost.

In this new world, there were no rules and no laws, only the law of survival. The strong preyed on the weak, and the weak hid in the shadows, trying to avoid the dangers that lurked around every corner. It was a world where fear was a constant companion, and trust was a luxury that few could afford.

Among the ruins of the old world, a small group of survivors had banded together, forming a makeshift community in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of what had once been a thriving metropolis. They had managed to live out a meager existence, scavenging for food and supplies and fortifying their makeshift home against the dangers that threatened to engulf them.

But even in this desolate world, there were whispers of a new terror that haunted the survivors, a darkness that lurked in the shadows and fed on their fears. It was said that in the heart of the city, there was a place known as the Labyrinth, a maze of twisted corridors and hidden passages that was said to be home to a malevolent presence that feasted on the souls of the living.

The survivors had heard stories of those who had ventured into the Labyrinth and never returned, their screams echoing through the empty streets as they were consumed by the darkness that dwelled within. And so, they had stayed away, shunning the forbidden place and praying that they would never have to face the horrors that lay within.

But one night, as the survivors huddled together around a flickering fire, a lone figure stumbled into their camp, his body covered in bruises and his eyes wide with terror. He begged for help. Gasping for breath as he spoke of his family who had ventured into the Labyrinth in search of supplies, only to be ambushed by a horde of creatures that had emerged from the darkness.

The survivors listened in horror as the man described the creatures, twisted abominations with twisted limbs and sharp fangs, their eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. He spoke of the screams of the fallen, the sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bones that echoed through the corridors of the Labyrinth, driving those who heard them to madness. But then he spoke of a light, a hope for the future of the survivors. A place in the center of the Labyrinth that was safe.

As the survivors listened, a chill ran down their spines, for they knew that they could not hide from the darkness forever. The Labyrinth beckoned to them, a siren call that promised untold riches and unspeakable horrors, and they knew that they had no choice but to face the terrors that awaited them within to get to safety.

And so, on a cold and moonless night, the survivors gathered their meager supplies and set out into the heart of the city, their hearts filled with fear but their resolve unyielding. As they entered the twisted corridors of the Labyrinth, they felt the darkness closing in around them, the air thick with the stench of decay and the sounds of skittering claws.

They moved cautiously through the maze, their nerves on edge as they searched for signs of the center. But as they ventured deeper into the darkness, they knew that they were not alone, for they could feel the eyes of unseen predators watching them, their breath hot on their necks as they waited for the perfect moment to strike.

Eyes open and continuously searching for a sign of threat, they marched forward towards the center of the Labyrinth.

And then, with a sudden roar, the creatures emerged from the shadows, their twisted forms lunging at the survivors with unnatural speed and ferocity. The survivors fought back with all their strength, their make-shift weapons flashing in the dim light as they struggled to hold back the tide of darkness that threatened to overwhelm them.

But the creatures were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless as they closed in on the survivors, their claws tearing through flesh and bone with savage precision. And as the survivors fell one by one, their screams mingling with the howls of the creatures, they knew that they had made a fatal mistake in venturing into the Labyrinth.

In the end, only one survivor remained, a lone figure standing amidst the carnage, his eyes wide with horror as he gazed upon the twisted forms of his fallen allies, knowing he led them to their untimely deaths. He knew that he was no match for the monsters that now surrounded him, their hungry eyes fixed on him with malevolent intent.

And as the creatures closed in for the kill, the survivor closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to whatever gods still lingered in this broken world. He knew that his fate was sealed, that he would soon join his fallen comrades in the darkness that awaited them all.

And then, with a sudden burst of light, the survivor opened his eyes to find himself standing in the ruins of the Labyrinth, the creatures gone and the darkness banished. He blinked in disbelief, unsure if what he had just witnessed was real or merely a figment of his imagination.

But as he looked around at the twisted corridors and hidden passages that surrounded him, he knew that the terror he had faced was all too real. And as he made his way back to the camp, his heart heavy with grief and his soul scarred by the horrors he had witnessed, he knew that the darkness would always linger in his mind, a reminder of the terrors that awaited in the heart of this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

[killalluchihas]

Since Yoshi has taken trips to Japan before, what would’ve happened if she ran into Gojo on one of them? Would he even notice how strong she is? Or if he did would he fight her or just leave her alone assuming she’s a foreign sorcerer?

Hm. I think Yoshi would be more wary of any sorcerer she came across on a mission in Japan, and avoid revealing anything about her own strength. She would act like a civilian that just only had enough CE to see curses, “Oh I thought I saw something cool, that’s why I’m alone in this sketchy warehouse/middle of the woods/haunted house.”

Unless Gojo literally caught her in the middle of a fight (which is what happened in gv/bj) he wouldn’t have a clue.

Speaking of that, I’ve been playing around with the idea of Yoshi and Gojo ACTUALLY running into each other as kids and neither of them ever remembering the encounter, because I think that’d be funny.

In my head it’s like—Peak Depression 19 year old Satoru and Delinquent Teen 13 year old Reina getting into an argument in public over nothing. It has nothing to do with sorcery and curses. Yoshi’s ditching school because she woke up with horrible acne and recently learned how to jump between time zones; Gojo is traveling abroad ‘for a mission’ and trying to use up his entire travel stipend on street food.

It works because Yoshi wouldn’t remember what Gojo looked like, she’s bad with faces and is later preoccupied with her own angsty teen drama (she got detention for skipping school). And Gojo would only remember her as a bitchy pre-teen with poorly bleached highlights and no skincare routine. He goes home with gifts for Megumi and Tsumiki to thank them for not being horrible brats (Megumi takes this as a challenge).

[jamesunderwater]

for the smut prompts 26 and wolfstar please!

Send me Smut Prompts! Thank you for this, anon (': brought joy to my life to write it lol. It did get a little long, and I changed the wording a bit on the line, but...hopefully it's all worth it 😈 26: “i wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it”

Show and Tell - majorly NSFW - word count: 3,574

“What was the code again?” Sirius asked Remus, who had only just relayed this information thirty seconds before. 

Remus sighed, readjusting Sirius’s large duffle on his shoulder while checking his phone. “3482.” 

Sirius punched in the numbers, listened to the sound of the lock whining back, and giddily opened the door to their rental. “We’re here!” He exclaimed as soon as his foot crossed the threshold, spreading his arms wide over his head. 

Remus stepped in as easily as possible given the thirty-five pound bag across his chest, pulling along his own compact suitcase behind him. Despite the heft of carrying their luggage several blocks from where they’d parked, a grin spread across his face as he took in their space for the next few days. “It’s really even better in person.” 

The front door opened to reveal a warehouse-style studio apartment with high ceilings, wood-paneled floors, and floor to ceiling windows making up the far wall. To their right was a modern industrial-style kitchen, and beyond that, they knew from pictures, was an expansive living room with an L-shaped couch and a large stove fireplace situated in the corner. Finally, the bedroom area included a king bed that they’d both agreed looked nearly double the size of any other king they’d seen and a standing rack on which to hang their clothes. The entire space was likely no larger than 800 square feet, but the wide open windows and twenty foot ceilings made it feel like they owned the entire building. The building itself had once been a fire station but had been renovated into separate studio apartments, which were now rented out to the endless parade of visitors to Brooklyn, New York. 

Remus hadn’t even closed the front door before Sirius was darting over to the windows, his face pressed against the glass in childlike awe. “Look at the view, Moony!” He turned to his boyfriend, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe we’re really here!”

Remus abandoned their bags by the couch in order to join Sirius more quickly. He much preferred to get settled into a new space as soon as he arrived, but he’d learned by now that Sirius’s excitement stopped for nothing.

“I know,” he came up beside the other man, sliding his arm around his waist. Having been to New York City before, Remus simply chose to appreciate Sirius’s wonder at the vibrant place. His bright, exuberant expression still made Remus’s heart beat a little harder at the sight of it. God, he’s beautiful. “I’m glad you’re happy with it,” he said, kissing Sirius’s shoulder.

Sirius hummed happily. “And look! It’s not just the skyline–this place looks down on this whole area!” He waved his hands at the bars and shops situated below them, where people were darting in and out of stores, laughing in groups, sipping fresh coffees as they walked. It was only 7pm; Remus couldn’t imagine what the streets might look like in a few hours, when the bars really started getting going. 

“So what should we do first, then?” He asked, bumping Sirius’s hip with his own to get his attention. Sirius turned his gray eyes back to their apartment, which he’d spent only about .025 seconds looking at before. 

“Holy shit, this bed,” he walked over to it, and Remus followed. “It really is gargantuan.”

“You still going to cuddle me even if you could have fifteen feet of space to yourself for once?”

Sirius turned to him and grabbed Remus by the shirt, pulling him to him. “I’d sleep in your lap if you’d let me, and you know it,” he grinned, eyes glancing at Remus’s lips. After three years together, it was ridiculous that this still made Remus’s stomach jump.

“Right now I’m thinking of other things you could do in my lap,” Remus replied coyly, sliding both arms around Sirius’s waist. He watched as Sirius bit his lip.

“I’ve had a few ideas myself since seeing this place,” Sirius’s eyes seemed to flick back and forth between Remus’s eyes and lips, and even a few seconds into flirting, Remus could feel Sirius growing against his thigh. Not that he could talk, of course.

“Oh? Are you going to share with the class?”

Sirius pretended to think on this a moment. “Mm… I’m more of a show and tell kid, really.” Biting his lip again– he knew how much that drove Remus crazy –Sirius slid the hand holding Remus’s shirt down to his pants, where his growing dick twitched at the feeling of Sirius’s fingers gliding over his jeans. Remus let out an involuntary breath, a finger hooking around one of the loops in Sirius’s pants to pull him fully against him.

“And did I tell you you could start show and tell, Mr. Black?”

Sirius quirked his eyebrow, picking up on the mood quickly, as he usually did. “I’m not one for obeying rules, Mr. Lupin.”

Read the rest on AO3.