some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
How to create a character for an online or tabletop RPG (also a good guide on creating characters in general)
Royalty/nobility TV Tropes page
Basic character profile
OC masterpost
Random character generators - (1), (2), (3), (4)
D&D Character Building Tool
Character Design Ideas:
How clothing affects a character’s personality
Character Design Inspiration blog
Concept art, fan art, cool art to be inspired by
Character design references and inspiration
Sources for POC character design ideas and models
Create your own character model using HeroForge
For horned characters
Body and hair types guide
Random outfit generator
Naming Help:
Amazing site with an endless amount of naming resources
General advice on avoiding naming appropriation
Hispanic Surnames
Gothic Victorian names
Huge master list for character things in general
Masterlist of names of all types - including but not limited to ancient/old world names, Celtic, African, Northern European, Southern and Central American Native names, Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian, Polynesian, and more
Another name masterlist
How to pick a character name guide
Yet another names masterlist
Creating Background/backstory:
Character Sheet/Development Sheet
Another character development list
In-depth character personality, motivations and traits sheet
320 talents and passions for characters
On writing likes and dislikes that aren’t frivolous
Why you should write non-human characters non-conforming to the gender binary
Stereotypes, tropes, and archetypes
Random backstory generator
Assassin and thief character tropes to avoid
Character Interactions and putting your character into your world/story:
Comparing character height/height references
Characters who are scientists and writing about them doing science
Describing what different voices sound like
Describing skin tones
Writing friendship interactions that are platonic
Why having one character knock their friend unconscious to prevent them from doing something is a bad idea
Advice on shipping OCs with canon characters and what to avoid doing
Sweet Polly Oliver and Sweet on Polly Oliver situations (think of Disney’s Mulan for an example)
How to write multiple viewpoints/juggling a main cast of more than 4 to 6 characters
How to make readers care about your morally gray hero/anti-hero
On platonic OC and canon character relationships
How to avoid Godmodding in RPs
When it’s cheap to kill off a character
Writing dialogue
Things you shouldn’t do to canon characters
Avoiding purple prose in writing and RPs
Slang resources
Dialogue tips
Websites to chart your story/plot/character relationships
I got my (now 18-year-old) daughter into Ao3 back in 2021. I taught her she should always comment - even if the fic looks old or abandoned or whatever. She did.
Well - she got this email this morning:
The fic was written in 2014 and essentially abandoned.
Bethy read and reviewed in 2021 (and was actually the only person who had commented at all).
Today in 2025 - the final chapter was posted by the author and this was her reply to Bethy’s comment.
———
Never question whether a fic is too old to comment on.
Summary: Jason is at a loss for words when he finds out you’ve left letters at his grave every week, but your notes have enough words to fill the gap.
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
Word count: 3.1k
Tags: Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Notes: inspired by this post
At first, they started as journal entries. A method your therapist recommended to work through your feelings.
Some days, you would sit down and carve out the time to somehow write pages upon pages of your thoughts.
Others, you couldn't even get out of bed to eat breakfast.
But the leatherback journal was always there, sitting atop your desk and waiting, always available as a tool for escaping reality. No one expected you to be brave when you were writing. The smooth, cream-colored pages didn't tell you to get over his death.
Over time, you found that the entries started to become addressed more and more to your friend, until eventually, you sat down one day and wrote his name along the first line.
Dear Jason.
It was comforting in the same way it had been years ago, back when you wrote each other silly little letters telling each other about your days, writing jokes and foretelling stories of the adventures you’d have when you next hung out together.
The feel of your pen between your fingers and the paper under your hands went from your outlet to your safe haven, until your blood became the very ink you used to pour your heart out.
Perhaps that was being dramatic.
You’d developed a sense of theatrics since writing these letters to him, your inner child resurfacing when you hunched over your desk and reminisced, reduced to the simple emotions of sadness and nostalgia.
Along with writing the letters, you’d started visiting his grave. It had been a struggle to convince yourself to go at first, but ultimately, the desire to talk to him, to verbally communicate your thoughts, won out.
The first time you went, you noticed there were a smattering of flowers laying atop the tombstone. Probably set there by Mr. Wayne, or maybe his brother.
You made a mental note to bring some the next time you visited.
Sitting criss-crossed in front of the memorialized plaque, your words were hesitant to come. You sat in little more than your boots and thin coat, feeling exposed to both the crisp fall weather and the emotions burning with the desire to be voiced.
As the minutes passed, the silence gradually faded away as your words began to flow, considerably more stiff and disjointed than when you wrote them, but flowing nonetheless.
Only when the sun had set and the night air nipped at your hands did you realize how long you’d been there.
The cemetary was peaceful, with a certain eerie feeling that someone was watching, listening. Lanterns and candles from other gravestones gave the place an enchanting atmosphere, one you were hesitant to leave.
Making a promise to return, you slowly picked up the tattered pieces of your heart and stored them away.
The next few times you visited varied in terms of the time of day, duration, and what you brought with you.
Sometimes you’d come during the morning, after an early jog that left your body aching but still energized. Other times you would visit during the afternoon, bringing a blanket to sit on as you ate lunch and chatted with your friend. Even still others, you bundled up and perched yourself before the grave, hands slightly cold but heart warm.
The amount of time you spent during each visit was subject to variation, too. Grief was a fickle thing.
Sometimes it left you unable to speak, wanting to sit in silence and wallow in the undeniable fact that you missed him, and he wasn’t here.
Other times, you were unable to stop the fat drops of salty tears that carved rivers into your cheeks as you wept bitterly over his death, over the fact that he’d died before you could even realize the place he’d started carving out in your heart, different than the place he held as your best friend.
Even still others, it had you smiling and laughing as you remembered memories of you and Jason together, the simplicity of your childhood friendship and the complexity of your affection for him keeping your heart warm when the autumnal chill tried freezing it.
What didn't change much over all the visits was what you brought along. Each time, you carried a bag with you, containing the same 4 items: something to drink, something to eat — Jason wouldn’t want you to have an empty stomach — flowers, and a blanket.
After every visit, you wrote a thought or two down in your journal. The letters didn't stop, but you wrote less and less as you spent more time at the grave.
As the visits reached the year mark, your friends and family became worried as you appeared less and less in their lives. Even when you were around, you weren't. Your eyes were vacant, your mind at the cemetery, at Jason’s grave.
It got to the point where you felt it yourself, how your life was draining out of you.
Sitting slumped at your desk, your eyes slowly blinked open and landed on that leatherbound journal. The pace of your earlier writing should have meant it’d be full by now, pages filled to the brim with letters and entries, but half of the pages were still blank.
It was then you made a decision.
The visits would shorten, or lessen, or both, and you would place a letter in your stead during times when you had life to attend to.
Of course, the guilt at abandoning your friend ate at you, but deep down, you knew Jason wouldn't want you to become a lifeless shell of yourself because of your grief. He’d been so full of life before he died, so real and there, and he’d want the same for you.
So that's what you did.
On occasion, you would stick around his grave during visits, but left a letter and flowers most of the time.
Your heart was slowly healing, mending the cracks that had appeared and stitching the pieces back together. You knew it’d never feel completely whole again, not without him, but that was life.
You just had to learn to live without him, without his bright smile, his gleaming eyes, his fiery remarks.
It was hard, but eventually, you managed it.
Over the next few months, the letters piled up, and the snow soon demanded you place them in plastic boxes that would keep them safe from the elements.
It wasn't until one frigid January morning when you came to place a letter into the fourth box when you noticed they were gone.
Vanished. Disappeared without a trace.
It hadn't snowed for days, surely there would’ve been footprints from whoever took them. But the only indication that the boxes had ever been there at all was the rectangular outline left on the cold ground.
You were inconsolable for a time.
The letters had once again become your way of bridging the gap separating you two, allowing you to share your thoughts with him, your hopes and dreams, your emotions and innermost feelings.
Their disappearance left you feeling empty. Like you’d never said or written a word at all.
Friends had helped you look around the cemetery for the letters, you’d even asked the groundskeeper if he’d seen anything.
It was all to no avail.
You’d begun to resign yourself to the fact that they were gone for good, when one fateful visit led you to see a man standing over Jason’s grave, carrying your boxes.
“Hey! You there!” you barked out loudly, startling the man.
He started to turn around, but then stopped, seeming to realize he was caught by the owner of the letters he’d stolen. You couldn't see his face — his hood obscured your view — but you were certain he’d be sporting a guilty expression.
You marched your way over to him, fully intent on giving him an earful about how those letters did not belong to him, and he shouldn't have stolen them, but before you could, he dropped the boxes like they were hot coals and burst into a sprint.
“Hey!” you shouted, anger burning hot. Now he was running away? Oh, no chance were you letting him off with this.
After making sure the boxes weren't damaged, you sprinted off to chase after him.
The man was fast, you had to give him that. He glided over tombstones and rocks as if he were flying, and it was a struggle to keep up.
However, it seemed he didn't know the cemetery as well as he should have if he wanted to make a run for it, because soon he was making his way towards what you knew was a dead end fenced wall.
Once the man realized this, too, he hurried to find another way out, but by that point, you had cornered him.
“Hey, stop!” you panted, lungs burning but refusing to rest in case he escaped you. “What were you doing with those letters? You had no fucking right to take them.”
He seemed to finally understand that he was caught, shoulders slumping in defeat. You were about to chew him out more when your jaw grew slack.
This man… He was taller, bigger, and there was a white streak of hair where you hadn’t known one, but he looked so much like—
“Jason,” you breathed out after a second.
But no. It couldn't be. Jason was dead. Buried in a grave only a few paces from where you stood now. You’d mourned him. His whole family had.
For his part, Jason looked apologetic, expression agonized as he stretched a hand out. “Sweetheart, I—”
A swift slap to his face shut him up real fast.
It shocked him as much as it shocked you, and it was your own hand that had hit him.
He held his cheek, the mark there quickly turning a painful shade of pink. His mouth was agape, the stunned expression on his face mirroring the shock that was quickly overwhelming you.
“What the hell. Are you fucking kidding me?” you yelled after a moment. Your breaths came fast, almost like the air in your lungs was trying to escape you. “You’re alive? You— Bruce saw your body, I don't— How…”
The words made you think for a moment. Jason’s funeral had been close-casket, the pain inflicted on him hidden by the wooden door of his coffin. But here he was, standing tall, alive and breathing. Did he even die in the first place?
As if reading your mind, Jason hurried to speak. “I did die, sweetheart. I…”
Words seemed to escape him, though you certainly weren't in the interest of explaining how the hell he was alive.
“It’s a complicated story, but… I’m back again. Surprise?” The fuck. Surprise? At least he had the nerve to look apologetic.
“You…” It was hard to formulate words right now, what with the way you couldn't seem to keep the air in your lungs. Your brain was spinning, and it would probably have been a good idea to sit down. But you didn't do that. As mentioned, you weren't quite thinking right now.
Jason noticed how you swayed and reached out a hand, considerably more tentative this time, as if to stabilize you.
Instead of accepting it, you launched yourself forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, face pressed against the fabric of his jacket. The action seemed to catch him off guard for a moment, but soon his arms settled carefully at your back.
You didn't even notice the tears on your face until Jason said something.
“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. I’m here now, I’m sorry for leaving,” he murmured, and the way he comforted you was so painfully familiar, so achingly him that you couldn't help but cry harder.
Jason let you cry on him, his hand slowly starting to rub a gentle rhythm into your back. He pressed a kiss into your hair, and though surprising, it soothed you, calming you down until your tears had dried up.
Lifting your head away from his chest, you sniffled and tried not to dissolve into tears again. A large wet spot had emerged on the front of his jacket from where your face had been. It might have made you laugh any other day, but now, it just made your lip wobble.
“I’m sorry, I got your jacket wet…”
A small huff left Jason then, a sound between a scoff and a laugh as he shook his head.
“No, sweetheart, don't apologize. It’s a lot less than what I deserve for not telling you I was back.” A shadow fell over his face at that moment, an emotion you couldn't quite understand darkening his features.
Still embracing him, you jabbed his side with a light punch and gave him a glare that held none of the anger you emulated. “Yeah, that’s right, asshole, you do deserve it. I’ve spent years missing you, visiting your grave, writing you letters, only for you to actually be alive? You’re insane.”
At your words, Jason let out a low whistle. “I’ll be damned, ya never swore this much even when we were kids,” he remarked, to which you gave a playful roll of your eyes.
“If you can’t tell, my whole world has been completely flipped upside down.”
Once again, a remorseful smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he looked down at you. His arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you, placing a kiss on your forehead in apology.
“I know, m’sorry. I haven't… I haven't been back for very long. At least, not with my memory and all that intact. I didn't even know you were visiting my grave, leaving me all those letters. Honest,” he said, and you believed him.
Sure, you weren't sure how the hell it was physically possible that he was alive right now, but you’d take what you could get. As long as you had him, it would be okay.
After a moment, you remembered something and lifted your head back up to look at him. He noticed your movement and cracked open an eyelid to meet your eyes.
“By the way, what were you doing with those letters?” A sheepish wince and tight-lipped smile told you all you needed to know. “You read them?”
Jason nodded. “Mhm. Y’know, I didn't think anyone would care so much about me they’d be leaving letters after all this time, so I got curious and, well, took ‘em.”
Your heart skipped a beat at what it could mean if he’d read them all. The more recent ones were a tad… outspoken in your affection for him. Had he read those? Did he… know how you felt now?
“... How many of them did you read?”
“Most,” he answered casually, eyes closed again, and for a moment, you thought he hadn't read the latest ones. That is, until he opened both eyes and tightened his hold on you, giving you a sweet, teasing smile.
“Thought it’d be best to read some from each box, so… I know, sweetheart.”
Ugh. Damn him and his way with reading your mind.
“And?” you prompted curiously. You’d be lying if you said your heart wasn't pounding anxiously in your ears.
For reasons you couldn't fathom, Jason decided to be annoying and declined to give an answer, instead resting his chin on your forehead.
“Jason,” you huffed, though you couldn't be mad at him, not when this was exactly what you would've expected from him when you were younger. With an increased amount of protests and still no answer, you scoffed and started pulling your arms away. “Fine, be cryptic all you want, you weird ass—”
You didn't get very far before Jason trapped you against his chest, arms holding you in place and preventing you from going anywhere.
“M’sorry, doll, I thought— Am I not makin’ it obvious what I feel?” he asked, struggling to hold back a laugh.
The unamused stare you gave him didn't help matters, making him burst into laughter.
“Doll, when have I ever called you sweetheart before?” he continued with a laugh, and you wanted to kiss him at that moment, if only to wipe off the smug, teasing look on his face.
“Well, you— I dunno! Maybe you just call everybody that,” you stammered. Warmth crept up your face as he kept laughing, warmth you couldn't explain away as being winter-chapped.
Lifting a hand to wipe at a tear, Jason shook his head. “I promise I don’t.” His smile was so genuine, it nearly had your heart skipping. What did make your heart stutter was the way he ever so gently cradled the back of your head.
“Sweetheart, I… feel the same. S’funny, actually, I think I liked you since we were little,” he admitted, and the shyness with which he made this revelation had you blushing.
Deciding it was your turn to have a bit of fun, you shook your head. “Really? Since we were kids? That’s crazy, you must've really liked me, huh?” you teased, leaning back as far as his arms would allow.
“Okay, don’t be getting all coy on me now, sunshine,” Jason raised an unamused brow.
“Ah, not so fun being teased, is it?” you retorted with a grin. At Jason’s snort, you kept going, but faltered when he suddenly leaned in toward you.
“Can I do something, sweetheart?” he murmured, and it took all your strength not to shudder at the way his eyes flickered down to your lips.
Somehow, you managed to find it in you to hum, “What’s that?”
He gave you a look that seemed to communicate that same message of don’t act coy, before huffing out a breath. “Can I kiss you?”
You hummed again, a smile playing on your lips as you took a few seconds, as if deciding on an answer. “Well, I don't know if you deserve it, Jason, you really had me worried over those missing let—”
With little warning, Jason closed the final few inches between you with a soft, lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. It was barely more than a brushing of lips, but it still had your knees going weak. Eventually, you both pulled away.
Once you found your voice, you set him with a solemn stare, hands resting on his neck. “You better not leave me again, Jason Todd,” you said in a warning tone, half serious, half teasing.
His eyes softened at that, and he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Would never dream of it, sweetheart,” he said in reply, and you believed him.
jason todd x reader where the reader still presumes he’s dead and visits his grave every week to give him a letter because they used to communicate through letters for fun to the point where his grave has boxes of letters. meanwhile, jason thinks reader forgot about him until he visits his own grave to see reader dropping off another letter and after they leave he takes the time to read each letter they’ve left since he died and gets emotional. okay, goodnight !
Summary: Jason is at a loss for words when he finds out you’ve left letters at his grave every week, but your notes have enough words to fill the gap.
Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader
Word count: 3.1k
Tags: Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Notes: inspired by this post, no use of y/n
At first, they started as journal entries. A method your therapist recommended to work through your feelings.
Some days, you would sit down and carve out the time to somehow write pages upon pages of your thoughts.
Others, you couldn't even get out of bed to eat breakfast.
But the leatherback journal was always there, sitting atop your desk and waiting, always available as a tool for escaping reality. No one expected you to be brave when you were writing. The smooth, cream-colored pages didn't tell you to get over his death.
Over time, you found that the entries started to become addressed more and more to your friend, until eventually, you sat down one day and wrote his name along the first line.
Dear Jason.
It was comforting in the same way it had been years ago, back when you wrote each other silly little letters telling each other about your days, writing jokes and foretelling stories of the adventures you’d have when you next hung out together.
The feel of your pen between your fingers and the paper under your hands went from your outlet to your safe haven, until your blood became the very ink you used to pour your heart out.
Perhaps that was being dramatic.
You’d developed a sense of theatrics since writing these letters to him, your inner child resurfacing when you hunched over your desk and reminisced, reduced to the simple emotions of sadness and nostalgia.
Along with writing the letters, you’d started visiting his grave. It had been a struggle to convince yourself to go at first, but ultimately, the desire to talk to him, to verbally communicate your thoughts, won out.
The first time you went, you noticed there were a smattering of flowers laying atop the tombstone. Probably set there by Mr. Wayne, or maybe his brother.
You made a mental note to bring some the next time you visited.
Sitting criss-crossed in front of the memorialized plaque, your words were hesitant to come. You sat in little more than your boots and thin coat, feeling exposed to both the crisp fall weather and the emotions burning with the desire to be voiced.
As the minutes passed, the silence gradually faded away as your words began to flow, considerably more stiff and disjointed than when you wrote them, but flowing nonetheless.
Only when the sun had set and the night air nipped at your hands did you realize how long you’d been there.
The cemetary was peaceful, with a certain eerie feeling that someone was watching, listening. Lanterns and candles from other gravestones gave the place an enchanting atmosphere, one you were hesitant to leave.
Making a promise to return, you slowly picked up the tattered pieces of your heart and stored them away.
The next few times you visited varied in terms of the time of day, duration, and what you brought with you.
Sometimes you’d come during the morning, after an early jog that left your body aching but still energized. Other times you would visit during the afternoon, bringing a blanket to sit on as you ate lunch and chatted with your friend. Even still others, you bundled up and perched yourself before the grave, hands slightly cold but heart warm.
The amount of time you spent during each visit was subject to variation, too. Grief was a fickle thing.
Sometimes it left you unable to speak, wanting to sit in silence and wallow in the undeniable fact that you missed him, and he wasn’t here.
Other times, you were unable to stop the fat drops of salty tears that carved rivers into your cheeks as you wept bitterly over his death, over the fact that he’d died before you could even realize the place he’d started carving out in your heart, different than the place he held as your best friend.
Even still others, it had you smiling and laughing as you remembered memories of you and Jason together, the simplicity of your childhood friendship and the complexity of your affection for him keeping your heart warm when the autumnal chill tried freezing it.
What didn't change much over all the visits was what you brought along. Each time, you carried a bag with you, containing the same 4 items: something to drink, something to eat — Jason wouldn’t want you to have an empty stomach — flowers, and a blanket.
After every visit, you wrote a thought or two down in your journal. The letters didn't stop, but you wrote less and less as you spent more time at the grave.
As the visits reached the year mark, your friends and family became worried as you appeared less and less in their lives. Even when you were around, you weren't. Your eyes were vacant, your mind at the cemetery, at Jason’s grave.
It got to the point where you felt it yourself, how your life was draining out of you.
Sitting slumped at your desk, your eyes slowly blinked open and landed on that leatherbound journal. The pace of your earlier writing should have meant it’d be full by now, pages filled to the brim with letters and entries, but half of the pages were still blank.
It was then you made a decision.
The visits would shorten, or lessen, or both, and you would place a letter in your stead during times when you had life to attend to.
Of course, the guilt at abandoning your friend ate at you, but deep down, you knew Jason wouldn't want you to become a lifeless shell of yourself because of your grief. He’d been so full of life before he died, so real and there, and he’d want the same for you.
So that's what you did.
On occasion, you would stick around his grave during visits, but left a letter and flowers most of the time.
Your heart was slowly healing, mending the cracks that had appeared and stitching the pieces back together. You knew it’d never feel completely whole again, not without him, but that was life.
You just had to learn to live without him, without his bright smile, his gleaming eyes, his fiery remarks.
It was hard, but eventually, you managed it.
Over the next few months, the letters piled up, and the snow soon demanded you place them in plastic boxes that would keep them safe from the elements.
It wasn't until one frigid January morning when you came to place a letter into the fourth box when you noticed they were gone.
Vanished. Disappeared without a trace.
It hadn't snowed for days, surely there would’ve been footprints from whoever took them. But the only indication that the boxes had ever been there at all was the rectangular outline left on the cold ground.
You were inconsolable for a time.
The letters had once again become your way of bridging the gap separating you two, allowing you to share your thoughts with him, your hopes and dreams, your emotions and innermost feelings.
Their disappearance left you feeling empty. Like you’d never said or written a word at all.
Friends had helped you look around the cemetery for the letters, you’d even asked the groundskeeper if he’d seen anything.
It was all to no avail.
You’d begun to resign yourself to the fact that they were gone for good, when one fateful visit led you to see a man standing over Jason’s grave, carrying your boxes.
“Hey! You there!” you barked out loudly, startling the man.
He started to turn around, but then stopped, seeming to realize he was caught by the owner of the letters he’d stolen. You couldn't see his face — his hood obscured your view — but you were certain he’d be sporting a guilty expression.
You marched your way over to him, fully intent on giving him an earful about how those letters did not belong to him, and he shouldn't have stolen them, but before you could, he dropped the boxes like they were hot coals and burst into a sprint.
“Hey!” you shouted, anger burning hot. Now he was running away? Oh, no chance were you letting him off with this.
After making sure the boxes weren't damaged, you sprinted off to chase after him.
The man was fast, you had to give him that. He glided over tombstones and rocks as if he were flying, and it was a struggle to keep up.
However, it seemed he didn't know the cemetery as well as he should have if he wanted to make a run for it, because soon he was making his way towards what you knew was a dead end fenced wall.
Once the man realized this, too, he hurried to find another way out, but by that point, you had cornered him.
“Hey, stop!” you panted, lungs burning but refusing to rest in case he escaped you. “What were you doing with those letters? You had no fucking right to take them.”
He seemed to finally understand that he was caught, shoulders slumping in defeat. You were about to chew him out more when your jaw grew slack.
This man… He was taller, bigger, and there was a white streak of hair where you hadn’t known one, but he looked so much like—
“Jason,” you breathed out after a second.
But no. It couldn't be. Jason was dead. Buried in a grave only a few paces from where you stood now. You’d mourned him. His whole family had.
For his part, Jason looked apologetic, expression agonized as he stretched a hand out. “Sweetheart, I—”
A swift slap to his face shut him up real fast.
It shocked him as much as it shocked you, and it was your own hand that had hit him.
He held his cheek, the mark there quickly turning a painful shade of pink. His mouth was agape, the stunned expression on his face mirroring the shock that was quickly overwhelming you.
“What the hell. Are you fucking kidding me?” you yelled after a moment. Your breaths came fast, almost like the air in your lungs was trying to escape you. “You’re alive? You— Bruce saw your body, I don't— How…”
The words made you think for a moment. Jason’s funeral had been close-casket, the pain inflicted on him hidden by the wooden door of his coffin. But here he was, standing tall, alive and breathing. Did he even die in the first place?
As if reading your mind, Jason hurried to speak. “I did die, sweetheart. I…”
Words seemed to escape him, though you certainly weren't in the interest of explaining how the hell he was alive.
“It’s a complicated story, but… I’m back again. Surprise?” The fuck. Surprise? At least he had the nerve to look apologetic.
“You…” It was hard to formulate words right now, what with the way you couldn't seem to keep the air in your lungs. Your brain was spinning, and it would probably have been a good idea to sit down. But you didn't do that. As mentioned, you weren't quite thinking right now.
Jason noticed how you swayed and reached out a hand, considerably more tentative this time, as if to stabilize you.
Instead of accepting it, you launched yourself forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, face pressed against the fabric of his jacket. The action seemed to catch him off guard for a moment, but soon his arms settled carefully at your back.
You didn't even notice the tears on your face until Jason said something.
“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. I’m here now, I’m sorry for leaving,” he murmured, and the way he comforted you was so painfully familiar, so achingly him that you couldn't help but cry harder.
Jason let you cry on him, his hand slowly starting to rub a gentle rhythm into your back. He pressed a kiss into your hair, and though surprising, it soothed you, calming you down until your tears had dried up.
Lifting your head away from his chest, you sniffled and tried not to dissolve into tears again. A large wet spot had emerged on the front of his jacket from where your face had been. It might have made you laugh any other day, but now, it just made your lip wobble.
“I’m sorry, I got your jacket wet…”
A small huff left Jason then, a sound between a scoff and a laugh as he shook his head.
“No, sweetheart, don't apologize. It’s a lot less than what I deserve for not telling you I was back.” A shadow fell over his face at that moment, an emotion you couldn't quite understand darkening his features.
Still embracing him, you jabbed his side with a light punch and gave him a glare that held none of the anger you emulated. “Yeah, that’s right, asshole, you do deserve it. I’ve spent years missing you, visiting your grave, writing you letters, only for you to actually be alive? You’re insane.”
At your words, Jason let out a low whistle. “I’ll be damned, ya never swore this much even when we were kids,” he remarked, to which you gave a playful roll of your eyes.
“If you can’t tell, my whole world has been completely flipped upside down.”
Once again, a remorseful smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he looked down at you. His arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you, placing a kiss on your forehead in apology.
“I know, m’sorry. I haven't… I haven't been back for very long. At least, not with my memory and all that intact. I didn't even know you were visiting my grave, leaving me all those letters. Honest,” he said, and you believed him.
Sure, you weren't sure how the hell it was physically possible that he was alive right now, but you’d take what you could get. As long as you had him, it would be okay.
After a moment, you remembered something and lifted your head back up to look at him. He noticed your movement and cracked open an eyelid to meet your eyes.
“By the way, what were you doing with those letters?” A sheepish wince and tight-lipped smile told you all you needed to know. “You read them?”
Jason nodded. “Mhm. Y’know, I didn't think anyone would care so much about me they’d be leaving letters after all this time, so I got curious and, well, took ‘em.”
Your heart skipped a beat at what it could mean if he’d read them all. The more recent ones were a tad… outspoken in your affection for him. Had he read those? Did he… know how you felt now?
“... How many of them did you read?”
“Most,” he answered casually, eyes closed again, and for a moment, you thought he hadn't read the latest ones. That is, until he opened both eyes and tightened his hold on you, giving you a sweet, teasing smile.
“Thought it’d be best to read some from each box, so… I know, sweetheart.”
Ugh. Damn him and his way with reading your mind.
“And?” you prompted curiously. You’d be lying if you said your heart wasn't pounding anxiously in your ears.
For reasons you couldn't fathom, Jason decided to be annoying and declined to give an answer, instead resting his chin on your forehead.
“Jason,” you huffed, though you couldn't be mad at him, not when this was exactly what you would've expected from him when you were younger. With an increased amount of protests and still no answer, you scoffed and started pulling your arms away. “Fine, be cryptic all you want, you weird ass—”
You didn't get very far before Jason trapped you against his chest, arms holding you in place and preventing you from going anywhere.
“M’sorry, doll, I thought— Am I not makin’ it obvious what I feel?” he asked, struggling to hold back a laugh.
The unamused stare you gave him didn't help matters, making him burst into laughter.
“Doll, when have I ever called you sweetheart before?” he continued with a laugh, and you wanted to kiss him at that moment, if only to wipe off the smug, teasing look on his face.
“Well, you— I dunno! Maybe you just call everybody that,” you stammered. Warmth crept up your face as he kept laughing, warmth you couldn't explain away as being winter-chapped.
Lifting a hand to wipe at a tear, Jason shook his head. “I promise I don’t.” His smile was so genuine, it nearly had your heart skipping. What did make your heart stutter was the way he ever so gently cradled the back of your head.
“Sweetheart, I… feel the same. S’funny, actually, I think I liked you since we were little,” he admitted, and the shyness with which he made this revelation had you blushing.
Deciding it was your turn to have a bit of fun, you shook your head. “Really? Since we were kids? That’s crazy, you must've really liked me, huh?” you teased, leaning back as far as his arms would allow.
“Okay, don’t be getting all coy on me now, sunshine,” Jason raised an unamused brow.
“Ah, not so fun being teased, is it?” you retorted with a grin. At Jason’s snort, you kept going, but faltered when he suddenly leaned in toward you.
“Can I do something, sweetheart?” he murmured, and it took all your strength not to shudder at the way his eyes flickered down to your lips.
Somehow, you managed to find it in you to hum, “What’s that?”
He gave you a look that seemed to communicate that same message of don’t act coy, before huffing out a breath. “Can I kiss you?”
You hummed again, a smile playing on your lips as you took a few seconds, as if deciding on an answer. “Well, I don't know if you deserve it, Jason, you really had me worried over those missing let—”
With little warning, Jason closed the final few inches between you with a soft, lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. It was barely more than a brushing of lips, but it still had your knees going weak. Eventually, you both pulled away.
Once you found your voice, you set him with a solemn stare, hands resting on his neck. “You better not leave me again, Jason Todd,” you said in a warning tone, half serious, half teasing.
His eyes softened at that, and he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Would never dream of it, sweetheart,” he said in reply, and you believed him.
Writing a novel when you imagine all you stories in film format is hard because there’s really no written equivalent of “lens flare” or “slow motion montage backed by Gregorian choir”
You can get the same effect of a lens flare with close-detail descriptions, combined with breaks to new paragraphs.
Your slow-motion montage backed by a Gregorian choir can be done with a few technques that all involve repetition.
First is epizeuxis, the repeating of a word for emphasis.
Example:
Falling. Falling. Falling. There was nothing to keep Marie from plunging into the rolling river below. She could only hope for a miracle now, that she would come out alive somehow despite a twenty-foot drop into five-foot-deep water.
Then there’s anaphora, where you write a number of phrases with the same words at the beginning.
There were still mages out there living in terror of shining steel armor emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy.
There were still mages out there being forced by desperation into the clutches of demons.
There were mages out there being threatened with Tranquility as punishment for their disobedience, and the threats were being made good upon.
Mages who had attempted to flee, but knew nothing of the outside world and were forced to return to their prison out of need for sustenance and shelter.
Mages who only desired to find the families they were torn from.
Mages who only wanted to see the sun.
This kind of repetition effectively slows the pace of your writing and puts the focus on that small scene. That’s where you get your slow pan. The same repetition also has a subtle musicality to it depending on the words you use. That’s where you get the same vibe as you might get from a Gregorian choir.
For more neat tricks (aka figures of rhetoric) like epizeuxis and anaphora, read THE ELEMENTS OF ELOQUENCE by Mark Forsyth. It’s both educational and delightful, not to mention overflowing with wry wit. Great book.
i’m beyond done with this nonsense, and i have zero patience to deal with it. 3ggcecut1oner on AO3 has once again stolen someone else's work—this time it’s my friend's ( @osamucide ) they’ve decided to post without permission. they didn’t give credit, didn’t bother to ask, just slapped it up there as if it was theirs to toy with.
here's the LINK to the plagiarized fic.
this is the same jerk who stole my fic before, only to delete it after i publicly called them out. clearly, they didn’t get the message the first time.
plagiarizing is pathetic. you didn’t write the fic, and claiming it as yours makes you a fraud. deleting it after being called out doesn’t clean your hands either. it just proves that you know exactly what you’re doing—and it’s disgusting.
if anyone sees them posting again, please inform me or the original author. i’ve already reported their entire account cause this is beyond ridiculous.
Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:
Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.
You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.
When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.
A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)
Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)
The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.
Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.
Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.
If you’re looking to add some graphics to your Masterlist, check out this list! All images are free for you to use - just please consider liking or reblogging 💕 And for best quality, tap/click and open each image and save from there (don’t save from the post itself!)
[Requests are Open - please read here!]
Masterlist Headers & Dividers
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Making Moodboards in Canva
Recent Faves:
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✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so definitely check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Here, here, here and here are some tips on using the app / making graphics if you haven’t before!) (and credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨
Summary: Mari and Lloyd work on a school project and hang out after. Mari explores Ninjago City and learns a disturbing truth.
A/N: Another nearly 13k chapter after more than a month of radio silence... I apologize 🧍🏻♀️
(But I can't promise it won't happen again)
———————————
School the next day was tense, to say the least.
Not between me and Lloyd, and thankfully not with Nya either — before class started, I’d apologized to her and she’d forgiven me with an understanding smile — but everyone else stared at me in the halls and as I walked into each class I had.
It was especially bad when the three of us met up to sit together in the cafeteria for lunch. There was a cloud of silence that smothered all conversation as we entered the room and sat down at a table.
Everyone was on edge. Word had gotten out about my tiff with one of Lloyd’s harassers, it seemed.
Seated next to me, Lloyd leaned in close to murmur, “I told you people would hear about it.”
I looked at him, meeting the downcast green eyes that were full of guilt. “And I told you that I would handle it. Nothing’s going to happen,” I reassured him, peering over his shoulder to glare back at someone scowling at us.
“Something might if you keep looking at people that way,” Nya warned. “We don’t need some jerk getting upset over you returning their death glare.”
Turning around to give her an apologetic glance, I nodded. “My bad.”
Silence stretched between the three of us, an unspoken agreement to try and lay low today passing through the air. It seemed to be working. People started to ignore us again.
But then someone else stepped into the lunchroom: the guy I’d punched. Conversations hushed again as people took in the way he looked. A small flicker of pride lit in me at the way his nose was still bruised and bandaged.
“Mari,” Nya said, her warning tone clear as day.
“I know,” I huffed, looking away from the guy. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed that our lunch period was almost over. However, the tense energy in the room only seemed to be building, growing thick enough where it practically felt like static humming in my ears. “You guys want to leave early?”
Lloyd nodded, and grabbed the edge of his tray. “That sounds like a good idea,” he replied.
But before we could get up and go, I felt a hand grabbing my upper arm, yanking me up out of my seat and turning me to face another aggressive-looking student.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he sneered. His grip tightened on my arm. “Don’t think that we’ve forgotten how you messed up our friend’s nose.”
I scowled right back at him. “I haven’t forgotten how you were harassing my friend,” I retorted, grabbing at his hand to get him off me to no avail — his iron grip wasn’t shaken.
Beside me, Lloyd tensed. “Let her go,” he told the guy, standing up and stepping to my side. Nya rose as well, jaw clenched and looking ready to fight someone, rules be damned.
The guy scoffed, looking at Lloyd with pure venom in his eyes. “A freak like you shouldn’t even be at this school.” A familiar fire lit in my veins, and I almost elbowed the boy in the nose, but stopped myself with a reminder of the promise I’d made.
“You can't do anything to change that, asshole,” Nya piped up behind us, standing with clenched fists. “Now let our friend go, before you regret it.”
He laughed. “What are you going to do about it? Punch me just like she did to my friend?” At that, he turned back to me. “I know you don’t want to get either of you expelled — you don’t have the nerve,” he said to Nya.
“Just shut up,” I grumbled, finally able to pull my arm out of his grasp. “Apparently you’re even dumber than your friend. Why would you try and start something where everyone can see? If anyone would get expelled because of this, it’d be you,” I pointed out, sending him a harsh glare.
The boy seemed to realize the truth in what I said and hesitated to speak. Instead, he mouthed the words “watch your back” at me and strode off.
I rolled my eyes at the threat, rubbing at my upper arm. “Acting like he’s in some high school movie. That was stupid as hell,” I scoffed, turning back to look at how Lloyd and Nya were holding up.
Nya let out a snort at my comment, the frown on her face fading away like the tide.
Lloyd was worse. He wasn't directly facing me, but through his tense shoulders and rigid stance, I could tell he was concealing his anger.
“Hey,” I said, bringing a hand to gently tap his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he’d been in, anger dissipating out of his eyes when he glanced at my hand tapping him. “I’m fine. Are you okay?” Lloyd asked. “That guy looked like he was holding onto you really tightly.” He stepped closer and scanned my arm, fingers brushing over where I’d been grabbed as concern filled his gaze.
“Lloyd,” Nya coughed. “Maybe we should leave. Before someone else decides they want to come pick a fight, too,” she suggested.
Seeing how many people were currently staring at the three of us, Lloyd nodded and dropped his hand from my arm. “Come on,” he said. His fingers circled my wrist and he pulled me out of the cafeteria.
Nya trailed after us. I could feel the way her eyes dipped down to stare at our linked hands. Heat crept up my face at what she was undoubtedly thinking.
“Are you alright, Mari?” she asked once we were in the hallway.
Lloyd and I stopped at the same time, turning around to face her. “Yeah, I’m alright. That guy had a strong grip, but nothing that really hurt,” I answered, glancing at how Lloyd’s hand still held my wrist. He seemed to realize this and let go, pink dusting his cheeks as he tugged on the cuff of his sweater.
“That’s good,” Nya replied. “I’m sorry that happened.” The corners of her lips pulled down into a grimace.
“Honestly, I expected it,” I said, crossing my arms. “I mean, I doubted that the dude I punched that day wouldn't have any angry buddies who wouldn't mind beating up one of Lloyd’s friends.” I glimpsed the guilty face Lloyd was wearing and added, “But it’s alright. I wouldn't change what I did.”
He glanced back at me, a small smile adorning his lips. I returned the smile.
“Well, let’s just hope that this doesn't keep happening. But even if it does, we’ll be here for you,” Nya said, a determined expression settling on her face.
I gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Nya.”
At that moment, the bell rang, ending our lunch hour. Nya quickly pulled both of us in for a hug and said goodbye, heading to her next class. Lloyd and I took advantage of the nearly empty hallways to hurry to our classroom.
We entered the room silently; the teacher barely spared us a glance as we headed to our desks.
“I know you said you don’t regret it or mind this kind of stuff, but I’m still sorry that happened. And just like you said you couldn't promise not to do anything when people say things to me, I can't promise to never feel guilty about this stuff happening to you,” Lloyd said once we were sitting down at our desks. He wouldn't meet my eyes.
“I don't blame you for it, Lloyd. And I appreciate that you care about me enough to be upset, but I promise I can handle these kind of things just fine,” I assured him, filling my voice with so much conviction that even though he wasn't looking at me, he’d feel how certain I was about being able to deal with whatever troubles came with his friendship.
“I know,” Lloyd answered, eyes still downcast.
I raised an eyebrow. Did he?
“I mean, you seem like a strong person, and I don't doubt you’re capable, but things are only gonna get rougher from here,” he stated, eyes darting to the door as more people entered the classroom.
His worry never failed to warm my heart, but it also succeeded in making me want to erase it.
A small sigh left me as I leaned back in my seat, starting to pull out a notebook from my bag. “I know. Good thing I have you to help me, right?” I said with a light smile.
At that, Lloyd finally met my eyes, his lips curving into a smile matching my own. “Yeah.”
The bell rang once again, signaling the start of class this time. Lloyd pulled out his own notebook and we turned our attention to the lesson, both of us ignoring the multitude of stares from our classmates.
But besides dodging insults thrown our way, as well as actual objects — fortunately (or unfortunately, I supposed) we both had experience doing so — the rest of the day passed uneventfully.
“I’ll walk you to your locker,” Lloyd said as we exited the room, slinging his backpack over a shoulder. “I have to stay behind anyway, so might as well make sure you get to the bus alright.” For some odd reason, he’d hurried to add the excuse.
(I pretended I was imagining the slight blush that seemed to be appearing on his cheeks more often when he was around me.)
“Alright,” I replied with a small laugh. As we got to my locker, I opened it and retrieved the light jacket I’d brought with me this morning. “What are you staying after for?” I asked as I slung my bag off to the ground to pull it on.
He shrugged, nodding to a poster on the wall displaying a pair of boxing gloves and cutouts of fighting poses. It advertised an after school club. “Helping set up a new self-defense club,” Lloyd answered.
“That sounds cool,” I commented. “Seems like something I might want to join. Do you recommend it?”
Lloyd seemed to think about it for a second, mulling over it in his head before he nodded, a suspicious smile creeping up his face. “Yeah, I do,” he said with a mischievous grin. “The first meeting is next week. You should definitely join.”
I raised an eyebrow at his questionable behavior before letting out a laugh. “If you say so,” I chuckled, taking out my phone to snap a picture of the poster before placing it back in my pocket. “I gotta get going now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lloyd,” I smiled.
Habit had me reaching out an arm to embrace him. My arm wrapped around his side before I realized what I was doing and could stop myself.
“Oh, sorry, I—” I started to say, but I was pleasantly surprised when Lloyd reciprocated the hug, using his arm to pull me in properly. Taking advantage of our proximity to enjoy the embrace, I brought my other arm around his back. His arm rested on the back of my waist, a touch that made my heart stutter, burning even through the fabric of my coat.
His golden hair tickled my ear, the smell of morning dew filling my senses. It was a smell so like him: soft, warm, and unbelievably sweet.
It was hard to tell how long the embrace lasted, but strangely enough, I didn't want it to end. Sadly, time was not on our side. Lloyd eventually pulled his arm away, and I did the same.
Once again, red colored his cheeks and the tips of his ears. I doubted I looked any different.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, grabbing the strap of my bag and lifting it for me to take.
As I took it, our fingers brushed, sending a lick of heat back up my neck and face. “You still need to tell me what you want for your birthday,” I coughed as I slung my bag over my shoulder.
Lloyd snorted at my statement, shaking his head as an incredulous smile made its way up his face. “You’re serious about that?” he asked with a laugh.
I let out a squawk of indignation as I started making my way to the main entrance, Lloyd trailing after me for company. “How dare you? Of course I am! Are you saying you don't think I can keep my word?” I huffed dramatically and pouted.
He laughed again, eyes lighting up at the playful exchange. “Well, I mean, I figured you’d forget—”
“Nope. I wouldn't, and I won't,” I told him plainly, setting a solemn stare on him. “You better give me some sort of idea; otherwise, I’ll be forced to give you something ridiculous.”
Lloyd chuckled at the warning and shrugged. “That’s fine by me,” he replied as we reached the edge of the sidewalk. “I don't care what you get me.”
Another snort left me at his behavior, but I figured I was getting nowhere with this, so I nodded. “Well then, it's settled. Your present will be a secret,” I declared, earning another light smile from Lloyd as I stepped onto the bus. I snagged a seat on the curbside, and Lloyd gave me a wave while the bus pulled away.
———————————
The next few days in history class, we’d been assigned a research project on any of Ninjago’s ancient myths. Lloyd and I had paired up together, of course, and we’d agreed to meet after school at a museum with a large library to look into the topic we’d chosen: ghosts and spirits. A subject I wasn't particularly well-versed in, but intrigued by nonetheless.
Lloyd had seemed averse in choosing the myth, but didn’t resist when I’d suggested it. I didn’t pry, figuring it was just a phobia of ghosts.
On my walk to the museum, I let myself take in my surroundings and appreciate their beauty.
Ninjago City truly was an amazing place, filled with all kinds of buildings — from old and traditional to modern and futuristic. Glass panes upon metal walls shot up proudly into the skyline: Borg Tower. Below it was the square with various little shops and stalls, and in the middle lay a weathered statue, circled by four pillars. It looked out of place amidst the modern constructions, with all its moss and scratches.
Curiosity peaked, I strayed from the sidewalk to take a look at it. It was a statue of a person, that much I could tell. But who?
As I rounded it, I was surprised to see a ninja. The ice ninja. His head was tilted upward, a sword resting in a scabbard on his back. A placard stood a few feet from its base, displaying a message of commemoration for his sacrifice during the Overlord’s rule.
Awe and clarity settled within me like a mist.
Until now, I’d never really thought of the ninja as real heroes. Sure, they saved the city and fought against people who sought to conquer the world, but for some reason, they’d never existed in my mind as saviors.
The words I’d said to Hideo the day I’d told him of my plan resurfaced in my mind, reminding me of how even though I hadn’t really meant it, what I’d said was true. The people who’d saved the world multiple times. But that begged the question: why was the police — the government in general — so hostile toward them? I frowned, head tilting as I admired the statue again.
The ninja did their job for them. They protected the people of Ninjago from harm.
“Maybe I was too harsh talking about them that day with Skylor,” I mumbled under my breath, guilt slowly but surely filling my mind.
Cutting through the cloud of guilt was the sudden chime of my ringtone, and I reached into my pocket to grab my phone. Lloyd was calling. “Hello?” I answered, checking the time. 3:11 p.m. Shoot. I was supposed to be at the museum ten minutes ago.
“Hey,” came the sound of Lloyd’s voice over the phone. “Are you close by? You said you were almost here.” A note of worry pierced through his speech, and I smiled fondly at it.
“Sorry, I got sidetracked, but I’m on my way,” I replied, adjusting the straps of my tote bag on my shoulder as I took one last look at the statue. “I’m close, I think.”
A muffled rustling came through his end, what I assumed was him shifting the phone in his hand. “Where are you right now?”
“Near Borg Tower. I just left the ice ninja statue,” I said, crossing the street and getting back on the path in the direction to the museum. “It’s a really cool memorial, by the way. Er— I don’t know if it’d count as a memorial, actually, seeing as that ninja is alive again,” I mumbled to myself.
Lloyd chuckled, voice sounding both relieved and amused. “Yeah, he’s… I guess you’re right.”
“Not to say that he doesn’t still deserve it, though,” I added, to which Lloyd didn't say anything else. “I’m almost there, for real this time.” At Lloyd’s snort and acknowledgement, I smiled and hung up. As I walked, the modern skyscrapers and centers gave way to more historic-looking buildings, their tiled roofs gleaming in the light.
In the distance I could see a large property, columns standing up proudly with glass panes showing rows upon rows of shelves. The museum. I didn't see Lloyd outside, so I sent him a text saying I had just arrived.
The exterior was breathtakingly beautiful. White stone pillars stood on each side of the doors, chiseled statues of lions decorating the bottom of the steps. Once I entered, I took a moment to breathe in the place, the smell of books and old paper filling my senses as sunlight streamed through the tall, floor-length windows of the library section.
“Mari, over here!” a voice loudly whispered. I looked around to see Lloyd waving at me, sitting at a desk with a few books already splayed out in front of him. The table was tucked away, placed near a bookshelf. A few people shushed him when he’d spoken, and he brandished an apologetic expression.
“Hey,” I greeted him with a smile as I sat down on the side perpendicular to him.
“Hi,” Lloyd replied as I grabbed my laptop out of my bag and opened it up on the table, returning my smile. “Did you get here alright?”
My lips quirked into a grin. “Yep. Besides getting sidetracked by that cool statue, of course.”
Lloyd blinked, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled weakly. “Right. That’s good. So, how do you want to do this?” He leaned forward onto his elbows, looking up at me expectantly.
“You want me to take the lead on this?” I asked, unsure of why I did so. I mean, it wasn't exactly strange for one of us to naturally pilot the project, but I had gotten the feeling that he was the leader-type. He nodded, looking the least bit resistant. “Okay then. Well, I guess we should look into the types first and maybe write down some key characteristics for each.”
“Sounds good,” Lloyd said, pulling out a notebook and pencil. At my raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “I’m old school.”
I let out a snort, shaking my head with a laugh. “Okay, old-timer. How about you get a list of some ghosts we can research while I get the slideshow set up? Then we can each collect information.”
At Lloyd’s affirmation, I set out to pull up a slidedeck and get it started with places for us to input information. A few minutes passed by like this, with Lloyd finding names of ghosts and running them by me as I set up the presentation with each of the things we needed.
“This is what I have so far.” Lloyd set his pencil down and slid the paper over to me. “What do you think?”
I pulled my eyes away from my laptop screen to read over the list, which had various different types of ghosts listed, from multiple cultures and beliefs. “This is pretty good,” I approved, sending him a smile. “Let’s choose a couple and then we can start the actual research.”
“Alright,” Lloyd nodded and we got to work selecting the ones best for our project.
We ended up picking out four kinds of ghosts. I had idly commented about how ironic it was that we chose four, the number that meant “death” in many languages, earning an amused chuckle from Lloyd, green eyes lighting up with laughter.
Soon enough, we got into a rhythm as we worked in tandem to gather the information we needed. Music played through the earbuds I’d put on a while ago, providing a relaxed ambiance to the library as we made steady progress. There weren’t many people around, and those who were inside left us alone.
I wasn’t sure if it was because they knew who Lloyd was or were just engrossed in their own business, but I wasn’t complaining.
The place reminded me of the library back in Jamanakai, except this one was larger, its plethora of shelves displaying books and tomes, and even ancient-looking scrolls. Which made sense, I supposed. This library was part of a museum, after all.
Thoughts distracted from my task, I let my eyes wander for a bit, lazily bouncing from the setting of the library to the boy just to my right.
His blonde hair sparkled golden in the sun, the rays of light turning his locks into a crown of gold. Lloyd hadn’t noticed me staring yet, so I decided to admire him for a little longer. Though he wore only a simple green sweater and plain black jeans, his features weren’t dimmed in the slightest.
“You must be done if you’re staring at me, right?” Lloyd suddenly said, his eyes never leaving the book in front of him, even as a sly smile made its way onto his lips.
“Wh— you knew— I… I wasn’t staring at you,” I sputtered out a jumble of words, mortified as I realized that Lloyd had been completely aware of my shameless staring.
“Really?” Lloyd countered, looking up from his book to turn to me. He set his chin atop his hand, lips parting in a cheeky grin. “That’s not what it looked like.”
This boy…
“I wasn’t! I was just… relaxing my eyes.”
It was a pathetic excuse, and we both knew it. However, it only seemed to amuse Lloyd even further. “By looking at me?” he replied, eyes full of mirth.
“I wasn’t— you know what? I’m getting back to work,” I huffed, rolling my eyes lightheartedly and turning back to my computer. “Can’t be feeding into your ego,” I muttered quietly, but loud enough where I knew he’d hear me.
Sure enough, he let out a laugh at my words, the sound making me smile to myself. Sadly, it was cut short by someone across the room shushing him.
“So sorry for distracting you,” Lloyd whispered once he’d stopped his bout of silent laughter.
I gave him another roll of my eyes, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow as I returned to the page I’d been skimming. “Who said you were distracting me?”
Lloyd smirked, leaning forward onto his elbows. “No one had to. It was obvious.” A silent look of disbelief was all the reaction I gave him, unsure of where all this bravado had come from, but not shying away from playing into it.
“Alright, casanova. Get back to work,” I chuckled, swatting his face away as he leaned in closer and simultaneously fanning my steadily warming face.
He sat back in his chair with a grin, pulling his book closer to him again. “Yes, boss,” he replied with a finger salute.
Letting out a snort at his antics, I pulled up the slide I was entering information into, glancing back at the page and resuming where I’d left off — a chapter about yūrei. But it seemed the productive period of research had ended, because every once in a while, Lloyd and I would snatch glimpses of each other, bursting into silent laughter each time.
As I caught Lloyd facing me with an unbelievably wide-stare for the umpteenth time, I slammed my laptop shut. “Okay, we’re not getting anything done anymore. Should we call it for today?”
Lloyd tsked, crossing his arms. “Speak for yourself. I’m already done with my two. Are you finished?”
Quirking my lips to the side, I shook my head. “Almost,” I answered with a huff. “I just need to get info on what kind of haunting a yūrei does, but I can’t focus when you’re giving me cross-eyed looks every minute!”
He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, soft chuckles falling from his lips. “It's not my fault I’m so distracting. But we can stop for today if you want. I’m getting hungry, anyway. Did you wanna get something to eat?” Lloyd asked, grabbing his notes and stuffing them into his backpack. “If you don’t have any other plans after this,” he added, glancing back at me.
“Food sounds great, actually,” I smiled, placing my laptop into my tote bag and stacking the books we’d scoured through into a pile. “Let’s just get these back to where they were and head out.”
“Cool,” Lloyd said and nodded. I didn’t fail to notice the small smile that graced his features once more at my answer. “Here, let me help you with those,” he said as we stood up, grabbing a couple of books from the top of the book pile I’d made.
I didn’t protest as he took the majority of them, giving him a smile. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, returning the smile.
Once we’d darted around and put the books where they belonged, we made to head out the doors but stopped when we heard a voice call out behind us, “Lloyd!”
Lloyd stopped in his tracks, and I whipped around to glance at the person who’d said his name. A woman, looking to be around her mid-fifties, was stepping over to us. Her grey hair was collected in a loose braid that rested atop her shoulder, and she wore what appeared to be an explorer’s uniform.
She didn’t seem hostile, but I glanced back at Lloyd to check his reaction to her. His shoulders were tight, smile strained as he turned around to face her. I frowned at the sight, prepared to defend him when he said, “Hey, mom.”
No doubt, my face lit up with surprise when the woman came forward and pulled Lloyd into a side-hug. “You came here and weren’t going to visit me?” she asked with a raised eyebrow as she ended the embrace.
“I was a little busy,” Lloyd answered, tugging on the cuff of his sweater. His eyes darted to where I quietly stood behind him.
Lloyd’s mother narrowed her eyes, confusion creasing her brow. She glanced toward me, curiosity creeping onto her face, but gave me a polite smile. “Hello, dear. What’s your name?”
I peeked a glance at Lloyd, suddenly feeling nervous. “I’m Mari, ma’am,” I answered her, “Lloyd’s friend.” My palms were growing sweaty with the way she observed me, and I felt a strange, but familiar need to explain myself. Past experience of parents not trusting me around tentative friends was most likely to blame for that. “We’re here to do a class project for history.”
She hummed in acknowledgment, a familiar mischief — so similar to Lloyd’s — filling her eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Mari,” she replied, smiling warmly. “My name is Misako. I’m Lloyd’s mother.” The woman — Misako — stretched her hand out for me to shake.
I took it and did so, breathing out a discreet sigh of relief. She didn’t seem to be too cautious about me. Then again, no one really knew about my connections to crime in this city. Well, some people know. But Kai and Skylor wouldn’t narc on me. Hopefully.
“Have you two already finished here?” she asked, adjusting her round glasses.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied as I returned her polite smile, wondering why I sounded so stiff. “We were just about to grab a bite.”
Misako nodded, adjusting the strap of the satchel I was just now noticing she wore over her shoulder. It was filled with various scrolls — scrolls that looked ancient. “May I just ask what your history project is about?”
“We’re studying ghosts.”
At my answer, the woman paled. I could tell she was trying not to look concerned, but an unmistakable hint of worry glinted in her eyes as she looked back at Lloyd. “Is that so?” she murmured, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t actually expecting an answer. At least, not from me.
Lloyd nodded. During our short introduction, I’d noticed that he’d seemed nervous, tugging on his sleeves in that now-recognizable tick. “Yep. We’re doing a presentation on different mythologies; we chose ghosts. It’s going well.” His words were clipped, like he didn’t want to say more about it. The last part of his sentence appeared to be directed toward his mother.
Had my hunch about a phobia of ghosts been right?
“I see,” Misako said, the small, disturbed gleam in her gaze not yet faded despite the unbothered smile she plastered on. “Well, if either of you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I’d say I’m well-versed in much of Ninjago’s history.”
I nodded, giving her a smile in thanks, though I suspected mine was just as unconvincingly relaxed as hers. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She returned the smile, which was considerably more genuine this time. “You’re quite welcome. I won’t keep you two now. Have fun, you two. I’ll see you at home, Lloyd.”
Lloyd nodded in acknowledgement, and with that, we left.
———————————
It was a fairly quiet walk as we made our way to a nearby coffee shop. I didn’t know what to make of it. I had the feeling that Lloyd hadn’t wanted his mother to know the topic we were researching, but was it really because of a phobia?
We stepped inside the shop and I beelined it to the counter once I knew what Lloyd would order, insisting on paying. It was a dumb excuse to keep him from the cashier who might’ve been a tad too judgemental, but I was glad he didn’t resist too much.
(He had vowed that he would pay for our next outing, which stirred all kinds of sensations within me.)
“Hey,” I said as I received our orders and brought them to where Lloyd sat at a table in a corner, staring out the window listlessly. “Are you okay? You seemed a little… tense. Back at the museum.”
Lloyd looked away from the window, blinking as if to clear his mind. “What?”
That was worrisome.
“I asked you if…” An idea suddenly came to mind; I didn’t know if it would be the best thing to do at this moment, but I wanted to cheer Lloyd up from whatever this was. “Actually, nevermind. Do you have to be home by a certain time?” I leaned onto my elbows, crossing my arms over the edge of the table.
He seemed to become more alert as I did so. “Not really. I’d just need to tell someone I’m staying out longer,” Lloyd replied. “Why?” His brow raised in curiosity. Earlier, I hadn’t thought that he and his mother had looked very related, but seeing the same curiosity and slight mischief made me see the clear resemblance.
The thought made me smile to myself. It wasn’t like I didn’t look like my parents — the opposite, in fact — but their two personalities were similar as well, which I couldn’t say for myself.
“I was thinking you could show me around the city. Take you up on that offer from the day at the arcade. If you’re up for it,” I said casually, stirring my drink with a straw. “It could be a reward for the progress we made today.”
Lloyd smiled at that, and I attempted to hide the smile that rose onto my own face behind my drink. “Of course. That sounds like fun,” he answered, placing his head on a hand. “Any specific kind of places you’d like to explore?”
Setting my drink aside, I hummed in thought. “Your choice. I trust your judgement.”
“Way to put pressure on me. I guess you’ll just have to follow my lead,” Lloyd teased with a grin, earning a small laugh from me.
Soon, we finished eating our snacks and made our way out the door, which Lloyd chivalrously held open for me.
“Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t visited many of the parks around here, right?” he asked, starting to lead me down the sidewalk. I noticed Lloyd had placed himself on the side closer to the street, serving to make me smile at the kind gesture.
“Only two. There’s one near Skylor’s apartment — well, it’s not actually that close, but there’s that one. And we hiked at a conservatory park once.”
Lloyd nodded, and tapped my elbow to signal to wait at a crosswalk. The touch sent a shiver through me, which I could tell he noticed. “Cold?” he asked. It was a little too casual for the way he smirked to himself and kept his hand on my elbow as we crossed the street.
“Just a little. It’s a bit chilly,” I said, glancing at his hand with a raised eyebrow. Wanting to enjoy the last bit of the warm weather before fall officially arrived, I had decided to wear only a t-shirt and jeans. It wasn't the real source of my shivering, but it didn't help matters. “I’ll be okay, though. I won’t freeze.”
“Like hell you will,” Lloyd retorted once we reached the other side of the road, pulling his hand away to unzip his sweater and shrug it off. “Here.” He offered it to me, clearly wanting me to accept it but also appearing nervous that I’d reject it.
This felt beyond the sweater.
I hesitated to take it from his outstretched arm. It felt like I was agreeing to more than just his sweater if I let him do this for me — which was silly. Don’t overthink it. He’s just being a good friend.
Apparently I had taken too much time to decide, because Lloyd’s eyes fluttered with regret and he started to pull his arm back. “Sorry, that was—”
“Wait.” I reached out a hand to stop him, my fingers grasping the neck of the hoodie. “I… I’ll take it,” I murmured. Something in the moment made me feel like I had to speak quietly, or else I’d burst the tentative bubble we’d suddenly become encompassed with. “Thank you.” Silently, I slipped my arms into the sweater, surprised at how soft the fabric was.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have had a second thought about a friend offering me a coat to escape the cold. I was always too busy being Tempest or an emancipated sister working to keep myself and my brother afloat to waste time thinking about something useless like romance.
Yet now my face was warming, my whole body burning with something decidedly different than I’d ever experienced. The only thought in my mind was how soft and warm his sweater was, as if Lloyd himself was embracing me.
Fluttering in my stomach — which was becoming an often occurrence, to my dismay — kept me from meeting his eyes.
Mentally, I chastised myself. Why was I letting myself act like this? A flushed, flustered mess? I had convinced myself that this was just a crush; fleeting and fluctuating, it would fade after a while, just as clouds settled in one place before drifting off to the next place.
Yet, it hadn’t.
For some reason, I found myself being pulled in even more. Like a magnet, he had attracted me and kept me close.
I was scared of what that meant. I didn’t know what to make of it.
“Are you feeling warmer?” Lloyd’s voice was quiet beside me. Sometime during my internal conflict he had stepped closer, the fresh smell of dew invading my senses, though I would never push him away.
Snapping out of my reverie, I blinked up at him owlishly. He stood less than a foot away, deep green eyes piercing my soul. The unexpected closeness made me inhale sharply. “I… Yes, I am. Thank you,” I replied, words as hushed as his.
He hummed, looking pleased. “That’s good,” Lloyd murmured back, eyes never once leaving my face. I hadn’t realized that he was a good bit taller than until this moment, with his head craned down to meet my eyes properly and golden hair framing his face. “You look warm,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.
My brain hadn’t registered the tease, too focused on his lips as he spoke — that was definitely new and definitely trouble — but once I did, I startled. “I— what?”
Chuckling at my reaction, Lloyd lifted his hand to gently run the back of a finger against my cheek. “Your face is red.”
The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, and my knees locked where I stood. A wave of warmth washed over me, making my face feel hotter and even more red, if that was possible.
“O-oh, really?” I blurted, unable to stop the furious blush that crept its way up my neck and ears. “That’s, uh, normal. I think. Like, since it’s not actually that cold, and, ah, now I’m wearing another layer, so it’s… normal,” I rambled, mentally slapping myself for acting so awkward.
“Mhm,” Lloyd hummed in reply. His eyes showed no lack of amusement, even as his gaze seemed to dip down somewhere lower on my face for a second before darting back up to my eyes. His face flushed when our eyes met again.
Is he…
Clarity shook me free from the flustered daze I was in, and I coughed when I realized exactly where his eyes had strayed and how damn close he stood.
“So, ah, where’s this park you’re taking me to?” I asked and cleared my throat, taking a step back and away from him, for fear I’d do something I would regret. “That’s where you're taking me, right?” With a hand, I made a show of discreetly fanning myself. I didn't dare meet Lloyd’s eyes, in case I’d see something that would make me throw caution to the wind.
Letting out a cough too, Lloyd replied, “Yeah. The park where, um, we’ll hangout on my birthday is pretty cool, so… I thought I’d show you it before the actual day.”
“Cool,” I said. Despite the heat on my face and body, I still shivered as a sharp breeze suddenly whipped around us, so I pulled his sweater tighter around me. “Lead the way, golden boy.” As I finally lifted my face to look at him, I saw the perplexion on Lloyd’s face. “What?”
He shook his head, but let out a puff of air as we started walking again. “What’s with that nickname? ‘Golden boy’ implies I’m popular, or admired,” he commented. Even though there was still a slight red tinge to his face, the prominent emotion in Lloyd’s expression was turmoil.
In reply, I shrugged. “Maybe. I meant it in the way that your hair is a really pretty shade of gold, but you’re also golden in the ways that count. Kind, funny, caring. And I do admire you. I know your friends do, too.”
Even though I said it casually, I knew what I was saying was true. True, I hadn't known Lloyd’s friends for very long — or even Lloyd himself — but it was clear as day that they held a deep sense of respect and loyalty for him.
From beside me, Lloyd seemed to mull over my words, a small smile replacing the contemplative frown that had previously resided on his face. “I guess they do. Thanks,” he said, glancing over at me. “It’s almost weird that you know exactly how to cheer me up,” he mumbled quietly.
I looked over at him, noticing the true, genuine smile on his face. It was a rare one. His genuine smiles, that is. Lloyd never had a lack of grins to supply around me, but it was these vulnerable ones that sent my heart stuttering.
Why don’t you let yourself be vulnerable like that? It’s what Skylor said you should do… That idea sent me mulling over my own thoughts.
We walked in a comfortable silence for a while, with me following Lloyd’s lead as he brought us to the park’s gated entrance. It was a nice place; secluded from the public with its brick walls and serene. A small stream snaked its way through the area, with a few paths trailing alongside it and various benches and small gazebos spread throughout.
Coupled with the setting sun on the horizon, it was truly a placid landscape. We took a moment to observe the scenery, Lloyd and I reclined on the back of a bench, facing the sunset. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, taking in the way the sun shone through the leaves on the trees.
Beside me, Lloyd hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, it is.”
Something in his tone had me glancing at him. Sure enough, Lloyd was looking at me, face soft and relaxed. “You look good in green,” he said after a minute of mutual silence.
My eyebrows raised, and I looked down to the sweater resting on my shoulders. “Why, thank you. I’ve been told it’s one of my best colors,” I replied with a smile, slightly exasperated at the fact that I could feel my face growing warmer yet again. “But I think green is your best color. You always wear it, and it always looks good,” I pointed out, looking up to his emerald eyes.
Letting out a chuckle, Lloyd leaned his arms — I hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting, but he was toned — further forward on the bench so he slouched over it. He faced me with a crooked smile, head tilted to the side. “You’re too kind, madam.”
“Simply stating the truth,” I returned with a matching smile. “So,” I said after another while of peaceful quiet, “what do you like to do here?”
Lloyd shrugged, peering over the area as he motioned to a spot by a small pond with his hand. “Sometimes my friends and I have picnics or small barbecues on relaxed days, when we’re not busy with our jobs.”
My eyes made their way back to him, observing him quietly. “You have a job?” I questioned, wondering if this had come up before.
Nodding, he turned back to me. “Sort of. I teach martial arts with my sensei,” Lloyd answered.
“Wouldn’t that mean you’re also a sensei? If you teach as well?”
“I guess it would,” Lloyd chuckled amusedly. “I haven’t been doing it for very long since I’m training to be a sensei, so I’m not quite used to when people call me ‘Master Lloyd’,” he admitted, which made me smile.
I hummed thoughtfully, thinking back to the day at the arcade. “That would explain your expertise in fighting.” I recalled the way he had masterfully landed blows onto the speed bag, his stance in perfect form.
“Punching a bag is a little different from actual fighting,” Lloyd pointed out.
That was true. I knew that better than most, I thought. “I just mean that it makes sense. But man, you really didn’t hold back on that one, huh? I was so confident I’d win,” I remembered with a slightly embarrassed laugh and rubbed my temple. “God, I was way too cocky.”
“Nah, it was funny,” Lloyd chuckled lightly. Leaning closer, he nudged me with his shoulder, a wry grin on his lips. “Especially your face after I won.”
With a hand, I smacked his chest. “Be warned, Lloyd Garmadon: that won’t happen again.”
“What? You being too cocky or me beating you?” he teased, lips stretching into a smirk. At my unamused stare, he laughed. Before I could retract my hand, he caught it and circled his fingers around my wrist, leaning closer to press his shoulder to mine. The touch made my heart skip a beat, my eyes becoming wholly focused on his hand. Ugh, why am I feeling like this?
“That’s too bad,” he murmured, turning around so his back rested on the bench. “I liked that competitive side of you.” The words made me flush, my eyes flickering to his, which were concentrated on my hand.
While one of Lloyd's hands circled my wrist, the other splayed it out, free for him to study it. And study it he did; he ran a gentle finger along the lines of my palm. Suddenly feeling self-conscious of the scars I knew were there, I glanced away from him but didn't pull my hand away. Lloyd noticed this and loosened his grasp. “What’s wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” At Lloyd pointed silence, I huffed out a laugh. “Seriously, I just… You noticed the scars on my hands, haven’t you?”
Tilting his head, Lloyd brought his eyes back to my hand. “I did,” he admitted, “I was just thinking that they look nice.” Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Lloyd ran a hand down his face, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, that came out weird. The fact that you have them isn’t nice. I meant to say, I don’t see any reason why you’d be ashamed of them. I have my own fair share, too.”
Although my curiosity was piqued at his words, I decided not to ask any questions when Lloyd gave me a small shake of his head. “Story for another time,” he explained. “And I guess I should follow my own rule, so I won’t ask about yours.”
Lloyd’s thoughtfulness warmed my soul. It was so easy to be around him. He didn’t expect anything of me — except friendship, which I was glad to provide.
“Thanks,” I murmured and gave him a soft smile. My mind dwelled on the fact that Lloyd still hadn’t let go of my wrist, and didn’t seem keen to, either. He was back to studying my hand, holding it gently in his. For reasons I couldn't fathom, I didn't want to break away from his touch just yet, so I didn't say anything.
Trying to ignore how I shivered at the way his fingers slowly traced the lines and scars of my hand, I settled my eyes on admiring the park. In a few days, I’d be here with Lloyd and his friends to celebrate his birthday.
Which reminded me…
“Are you sure that you don't have something specific you’d maybe want to get as a gift?” I asked him, glancing at him through the corner of my eye.
“Hmm,” Lloyd hummed, eyes briefly flicking to me before returning to my hand.
Tentatively, so slowly that I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been watching, he wrapped his hand around mine. He grasped it so gently, as if I’d break if he held it any firmer. He mumbled something in reply, but I didn't catch it from how quiet it was.
“What was that?”
Using his free hand to cover his mouth, Lloyd coughed. “Showing up is enough of a gift for me,” he repeated, louder this time, and turned to face me directly, expression earnest and sincere. “You know, I’m really grateful that you’re my friend. Before I had the guys, I was pretty lonely, and— and the fact that you’ve stuck around… I want you to know that I appreciate it, that I appreciate you.”
His sudden heartfelt words caught me off guard, my lips parting in surprise. “Aw, Lloyd,” I murmured, practically melting from how genuine he was being.
Suddenly, Lloyd sniffled and hurried to turn away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all emotional. I just… you know.”
“Lloyd…” I whispered, eyes crinkling at how endearing he was being. “Hey, come here.” Using the hand he was still holding, I wrapped an arm around his side, pulling him toward me so my chin rested on his shoulder. “I appreciate you, too. I haven’t even known you for very long, but you’ve already been a better friend than I’ve ever had.”
I briefly wondered if pulling him into an embrace hadn’t been the best idea; Lloyd had stiffened and remained silent. But then he sank into the hug, his golden mop of hair tickling my cheek as he tucked his face into the crook of my neck.
It was an intimate hug, far closer than I’d expected Lloyd to reciprocate, but I didn’t mind. A part of me savoured the warmth his arms enveloped me in.
The feel of his hands pulling me in close felt better than it had a right to, and I almost resented myself for so easily losing the aloof wall I’d built up over the years to a boy I’d known for little more than two months.
But when was the last time I had felt this normal? Having friends, going to high school, working a part-time job; this was the life I’d been wanting for years. I wasn't going to lose any of it just because I was paranoid or felt undeserving — which was something that I’d probably need to work on. Sounds like a problem for therapy, I joked.
Once Lloyd had started to pull away from the embrace, I let my arms slip from his back and watched him with a soft smile as he faced me. “Ready to head out now?”
“Yeah,” Lloyd sniffed, meeting my eyes with an impossibly sweet smile. He peered up at the sky for a second, shivering a little as a gust of wind blew through the park.
The movement made me frown. “You’re shivering,” I noted. “I can give your sweater back if you want.” I started pulling off one of the sleeves, but Lloyd’s hand stopped me.
“It’s not the wind that’s making me shiver,” he said cryptically. It wasn’t difficult to see how Lloyd’s face still had the slightest hint of red to it, but I decided to read more into that later, if at all. “I’ll walk you home,” Lloyd offered. He had started to reach for his wrist, but seemed to realize that he didn’t have sleeves long enough to tug on.
“Very well,” I said, smiling at the nervous tick. The embrace had definitely warmed me up, and I was — to my utter embarrassment — markedly feeling the lack of Lloyd’s body heat. Rather impulsively, I hooked my arm into his elbow. Now it was my turn to say, “Let’s go.”
Lloyd appeared just as surprised by the action, but thankfully, he seemed comfortable with it. “Lead the way, madam,” he said, tipping his head down in a laughingly dapper manner.
In my head, I could just imagine how Skylor would’ve commented on this. “What happened to Lloyd being ‘just a friend’?” she would’ve teased.
Well, she didn’t have to know about this particular interaction. But knowing her, somehow she’d find out anyway.
Despite the city now being dressed in shadows, I felt comfortable — safe — walking beside Lloyd. I would never allow my eyes to rest from their duty of constant surveillance, especially not after the close call I’d had the day of the arcade hangout, but for some reason I knew in my bones that Lloyd wouldn’t let anything happen to me. At least, he’d probably try.
The thought made me smile to myself. Apparently Lloyd saw it, because he turned to me and said, “What?” He questioned the motive for it with a crooked grin, face settled into a relaxed expression. He shifted my arm looped with his so he could properly face me without having to stop walking.
I tried not to let my mind wander to the fact that our arms were still hooked together or the fact that such a position left us basically attached to each other’s side by the hip.
“Thanks for walking me home. I appreciate it,” I emphasized the words as they left my mouth, parroting the words from earlier.
“Don’t mention it,” Lloyd replied, a warm smile — he should smile like that more; truly, it was heart-stopping — crossing his features. “It’s not exactly the safest in Ninjago at night, and I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” The words sounded vaguely familiar coming from his mouth, but I couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why.
A low chuckle escaped my lips, and I bumped his shoulder with mine as we walked. “My hero,” I swooned with a good-natured roll of my eyes, leaning my head to look up at him.
“Happy to offer my services to such a fair lady,” Lloyd returned the tease with more mirth than I’d expected, a glint of amusement to his eyes as he spoke.
“Fair lady? You flatter me.”
Shaking his head, Lloyd grinned. “No flattering. I’m just telling the truth,” he stated plainly. His bold compliment made me flush, but I hid it by giving him a pointed look. “Okay, maybe there’s some flattery,” Lloyd admitted. “But you are pretty.”
Warmth bloomed throughout my face, my lips curling into a smile at his words. And I noticed I wasn't the only one going red at that moment; the tips of Lloyd’s ears turned the most adorable shade of pink, making me laugh to myself. “Thank you,” I said, my tone more timid than I would have imagined it’d be.
Lloyd smiled, a furtive curl of his lips that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, a sudden sincerity settling in his eyes and making warmth tingle over my skin.
The chill of the night air seemed to dissipate into something decidedly not cold. I didn’t know what to make of it.
Unsure of what to say in reply, I gave him a smile in return that I hoped didn’t convey just how embarrassingly flustered I was becoming in that moment and turned my head to face forward.
Was I imagining it? Had Lloyd been flirting just now or was I reading it wrong? For the life of me, I could not tell. Walking beside him, with my arm in his and body nearly pressed side-to-side with his, I wasn’t able to convince myself that the little crush I had wasn’t developing into something more.
The idea was terrifying. Romantic feelings would have been a nuisance for Tempest; they only led to heartbreak and useless affections — a message hammered into me by my uncle.
But then again… was I still Tempest? And did I really care what Ikarashi thought about relationships? His familial relationship with me — if it could even be called that — certainly wasn’t the best example of a healthy relationship.
I frowned as I thought back to the countless times he’d put me down for the smallest of disobediences and beat me under the pretense of “breaking me in.” A shiver ran down my body at the memory of a particularly nasty scar I had from one of such disciplinary beatings.
Definitely not healthy.
“What’s wrong?” Lloyd said beside me, his pace slowing.
Turning my head to look at him, I took note of the way his eyes held the smallest hint of concern as he scanned my person. Although he didn’t ever show it overtly, Lloyd never tried to hide his worry for his friends, a quality so endearing and noble.
“Nothing,” I answered and gave him a reassuring smile, resuming our previous pace and continuing to head in the direction of the apartment. “I’m just… thinking.”
Lloyd didn’t appear satisfied with my response but let it go nonetheless. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked once we’d turned onto a different street.
I mulled over what to tell him. Obviously, I wasn’t going to say outright that I was developing feelings for him.
Would it be so bad if you did?
Yes, it would, I answered my own mind. Maybe being deliberately vague would provide some insight into what he was feeling.
“I’m thinking about relationships.”
Lloyd blinked but — to my vexation — kept a mostly neutral expression. “Oh?” His tone was inquisitive, but apart from that, I couldn't read what he was thinking.
“Mhm,” I hummed in reply, watching him through the corner of my eye.
“What about relationships?” He asked it casually, but I was starting to see the signs that he was anything but: that familiar and oh-so-adorable blush was creeping its way up his face and painting his ears pink, while he was starting to fidget with his free hand at his side.
(A small part of me liked seeing him like this, but I banished that thought from my mind in favor of remaining ignorant to just how far I’d let this crush get.)
I shrugged, idly scratching my neck with a finger. “Just in general. Familial, platonic, romantic — how they develop,” I mused with a half-smile. This conversation was treading thin ice, and I didn’t know whether to keep going or not. Honestly, it felt like it was getting nowhere. Maybe it was time to stop.
“Right. As one does,” Lloyd nodded solemnly. He seemed to be catching onto what I was doing, if his crooked grin — God, how could a smile be that attractive? — was anything to judge by.
“Mhm,” I said again, unable to stop my smile from growing.
It was clear that we both knew what I was trying to do and even more clear that I was now failing. He hadn’t responded negatively to what I’d been trying to insinuate, but did that mean what I thought it did? Man… relationships are hard.
“What are we even talking about?” Lloyd blurted suddenly, his bemused expression making laughter burst from my lips.
“I don't know,” I cringed, shaking my head and covering my gradually warming face with a hand.
Laughter bubbled from Lloyd’s lips at that. “You’re the one who started talking about… whatever this conversation is about!” he pointed out, bumping our joined arms against me.
“I know!” I groaned, pressing my knuckles into my temple. The action just made Lloyd laugh more, his eyes squeezing shut with amusement. Pulling my hand away, I looked back at him to admire his laugh. I liked making him laugh, I realized. I liked a lot of things about him, actually.
Eventually, his laughter died down, but the entertained smile never slipped from his lips. “You sure are something, Mari,” he said to me, glimpsing me with those wonderfully warm green eyes.
“Again with the flattery,” I scoffed with a playful roll of my eyes.
“It’s not flattery if it's true!” Lloyd argued as he let out another laugh. “Why can’t you accept my compliments?”
I sent him an exasperated stare, but that didn’t mean hearing his compliments didn’t make me feel nice. “I’m not rejecting your compliments,” I retorted in turn, “I’m just saying, you’re being quite generous with them.”
“Nonsense. My compliments are completely candid,” he huffed. The faux annoyance in his expression made me giggle under my breath. I suspected that if his arm wasn’t busy holding mine up, he’d be crossing his arms in an exaggerated display of offense.
“Ah, well in that case, I am most appreciative,” I said, playing along with the sudden but not unwelcome manner of posh speaking that we so easily fell into.
Lloyd nodded, face now looking satisfied as he replied, “Damn straight.”
Sudden giggles burst from my lips at his reply. (A voice deep within my mind made a mental note that I hadn’t giggled like that in years.) He didn’t swear much, I noted. Not that “damn” was much of a swear, but I realized that this was the first time I’d heard him use less-than-PG language. It was amusing, to say the least.
A comfortable silence settled between us — not that there was actual, physical room for anything to be between us — as we continued down the final few blocks before reaching the apartment building. As soon as it came into sight, my lips tipped down into a frown. I didn’t want to stop hanging out with him, not really.
It was strange, how our friendship had sprung up almost out of nowhere and quickly blossomed into a fondness that had me looking forward to any opportunity to spend time with Lloyd.
Once we reached the few steps up to the glass door, I hesitated to step away. Lloyd seemed to share the same reluctance. The street lights, although a harsh white, did little to mar his features; instead, they illuminated him — and his conflicted expression — brightly. But the night had to end somehow.
Lloyd eventually pulled himself free of our linked arms and faced me with a smile. “Good night, Mar.” He quietly bid me farewell, a softness to his eyes that made my stomach do somersaults.
I matched his smile before answering with a gently spoken, “Good night, Lloyd.” But before I started to say more, I realized that I was still wearing his sweater. “Oh, I almost forgot to give this back to you,” I said, looking down at it and starting to shrug out of a sleeve.
Lloyd stopped me by placing a hand on my arm. “Keep it,” he told me.
I blinked blankly, feeling the touch of his hand through the fabric. Keep his hoodie? The implications of what that could mean made me momentarily speechless.
It appeared Lloyd realized the same connotations of his words, because he hurried to elaborate. “Er— I mean, just for the night, you can give it back to me another day, or uh, you know, whenever you want,” he blurted, the words doing little to ease the tension.
“Alright. I’ll give it back to you… tomorrow?” I said with a laugh, dragging out the word. Lloyd raised an eyebrow, looking confused — we didn’t have class tomorrow. “I’m meeting up with Nya at the mall tomorrow, but I guess you might be busy, so…”
He smiled apologetically. “Unfortunately, I am busy tomorrow. Just give it back whenever you can.”
I nodded, giving him a playful finger salute. “Will do. Anyway, I should get in now before Skylor wonders where I am and starts a manhunt,” I joked and took a step toward the door.
“Right. I don’t want to keep you,” Lloyd agreed, smiling wryly. “Good night,” he repeated, the words spoken softly and full of fondness.
My hand reached the doorknob and I twisted it after buzzing myself in. “Good night,” I said again, turning to face Lloyd and waving as I stepped inside. His returned wave made me smile, and I hesitated for a second before making my way up the stairs to Skylor and I’s apartment.
I had a suspicion that a certain feeling kept me from wanting to end our time together. Although I wouldn't deny I felt it, I had made up my mind about not acting on anything.
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“I’m home!” I called out into the apartment after stepping inside and locking the door behind me. Slipping my shoes off, I walked further in and saw Skylor sprawled on the couch. It looked like she’d been waiting up for me but had fallen asleep whilst doing so. A warm smile — I noticed I was smiling like that more often in Ninjago City — tugged the corners of my mouth up at the thought.
Maybe it was silly to think so, but it felt like Skylor had almost become like a mother figure, or perhaps an older sister, to me in the weeks since I’d moved in with her. I was continually touched by the various things Skylor did for me; the reminders of her unconditional support for me soothed the scars I had from my own parents’ methods of child-rearing.
I deeply cherished Skylor and our friendship, a relation that had proven infinitesimally uplifting time and time again. I hoped the same would be true about my new friendships with Lloyd and his circle.
Resting a gentle hand on her shoulder to stir her awake, I whispered, “Sky, I’m back.”
Skylor startled at the movement but quickly regained her bearings and looked up at me with a sleepy grin. “Hey, welcome home. Your study session went late, huh?” she remarked, eyes darting to a clock on the wall — which read 7:46p.m. — and widening at the late hour.
“Yeah, I guess it did,” I winced, “Sorry about that.”
She waved it off but did set a firm gaze on me. “It’s fine. But make sure you give a heads up about if you’ll get home later than you think, alright? I get worried, you know,” Skylor said, rising from her perch and hefting the blanket that’d been draped over her body up with her.
“I will,” I assured her resolutely and walked her to her bedroom. “I lost track of time, but I’ll make sure to let you know next time.” What I didn’t say was that I was planning on heading out again in a couple of hours, but not for a meeting with anyone.
Earlier this week, I’d made the decision to explore more of the city at night and familiarize myself with all its alleys and hidden areas. Back in Jamanakai, I’d known every crook and cranny like the back of my hand, which had definitely helped when evading pursuit from both criminals and the police.
I was hesitant about leaving Skylor out of the loop, not wanting to betray her trust, but I knew she (probably) wouldn't approve. And even if she did, I had my reservations about letting another person close to me know about my shady activities for fear of being betrayed.
I’d leave her a note again, I decided. One she could find if she went into my room while I was out, but that I could remove if I got back without being discovered.
“Did you have a good time with Lloyd?” Skylor yawned as she stepped into the threshold of her room, unaware of my less-than-legal plans.
Returning to the moment, I smiled at her question, remembering how pleasant the simple outing had been. “Yeah, it was fun. We made some good progress on our project and spent some time at a park he likes after,” I recounted the events for her.
“That’s nice,” Skylor murmured quietly, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. If she had been any more awake, there was no doubt she would have teased me about how “date-y” our study session had turned out. As it was, Skylor barely seemed able to stand on her feet, sleepiness weighing her eyelids down like millstones.
The sight elicited a small chuckle from me, and I gently guided her further into her room. “You look real tired, Sky,” I commented. “Busy day at the noodle house?”
A nod was all the reply I got; Skylor looked on the verge of falling asleep standing, but I hurried her to lay down.
“Go to sleep, Skylor,” I directed firmly. “You look exhausted. Thanks for waiting up for me, but you are relieved of watch duty. You should go to sleep now.”
Skylor hummed, head bobbing in agreement as she retreated under her covers. “Good night,” she sighed, her face finally relaxing as she was pulled into the lulls of sleep. I took a step away from her bed but before I could go farther, a hand gripped my wrist, halting me.
“Be careful, Mari,” Skylor muttered under her breath, hand firmly latched around my arm even as her eyes were shut.
Confusion twisted my features into a frown. Careful? About what? Did she figure out that I was going out? “What do you mean?” I questioned, but she had already fallen asleep by that point. Her hand fell from my wrist with little spectacle.
Expression most likely still displaying bewilderment, I left her room and entered my own. I wasn't sure what Skylor had been referring to with that warning, but I would heed it on this little mission of mine. Reaching under my bed, I pulled out my trusty duffel bag and grabbed my Tempest get-up, dressing myself in the dark clothes and pulling a hood over my head.
Sure, I had left my identity as Tempest behind, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make use of my old attire. Obviously, I wouldn’t dress exactly like I had when I’d been working under my uncle — that would attract far more attention than I wanted. Instead, I’d altered the costume to be even more discreet and unassuming. The kabuki mask would stay behind, too, but I made sure to obscure my face with a different facemask.
Apprehension permeated my gut as I lifted my window open, feeling a hint of hesitation halt my movements.
Was this wrong to do? I wasn’t involved in any criminal activities anymore, and that had been the foremost reason I’d known the stretch of alleys in Jamanakai — so I could escape whenever aforementioned activities went south.
It’s also for my own safety, I reminded myself. The memory of the near-disastrous incident where a strange man had followed me haunted my thoughts. That won’t happen again, I vowed.
With renewed resolve, I slipped out the window silently, lowering it until it was almost closed, held open only by a stray pencil. My window faced away from the street, making it that much easier to sneak out into the narrow passages between each building.
I scaled the side of the wall deftly until I reached a ledge where I could leap to a nearby rooftop. My feet landed on the hard cement with a soft thud, muffled by the cushioned soles in the specialized shoes I’d put on. Having a history in stealth does come in handy, I admitted to myself with a wry grin.
Already, I could feel my anxieties lifting from my shoulders as I sprinted off each roof and let the wind propel me forward. This was familiar, the sense of adrenaline that came with each carefully planned jump and freefall before the eventual landing.
Up here, I was alone and in control. I paused my parkour for a moment to take a breath and relish the comforting sense of freedom, feeling a gust of wind swirl around me before returning my focus to the task at hand.
Distant sirens and sounds of cars passing by filled the air as I prowled around the restless city.
Exploring a city and making a mental map of it wasn’t too hard the second time, though the sheer size of Ninjago City did prove a challenge. I passed over the business districts, with their flashing signs and multitudes of advertisements; the modernized urban areas full of high-rise skyscrapers and various stores; and the more historic, traditional buildings with their pyramidical hogyo roofs and red lanterns strung above the ground.
One such building stood out to me for a moment. I paused on the edge of a tiled roof to read the sign. Mystake’s Tea Shop, it read. For some odd reason, I felt the strange temptation to stop and enter, but I shook myself from the idea. I was out here not to sightsee, but to study.
I paid a brief visit to the docks after leaving the old parts of the city, the wooden boards creaking under my feet as I sidled up beside the various ships. Tucking away the knowledge that it was crowded with boxes and shipping containers, I headed out — the docks made a good spot to go to if I needed to lose a tail, but I would have to be careful not to get cornered.
(I did hope that I wouldn’t have to use that piece of information, but better safe than sorry.)
I didn’t have a watch on me, but judging by the pitch-black color the sky had turned into, I guessed it was past midnight. Ninjago City was considerably larger than Jamanakai, so it’d take more than just one night to fully familiarize with all of it. Once I’d made the general overview of at least half the city in my mind, I set out to quickly scour the alleys leading to the apartment to find what places made good hideouts and where the best shortcuts were.
Garbage crunched under my feet as I shimmied through the more narrow back streets and I sidestepped a nasty-looking puddle as the alleys opened into a dusty, but hidden square.
After making mental notes about each street and avenue, I started making my way home through the dark passages. If I remembered correctly, I had to take a turn here…
I came inches close to colliding with someone's back but pulled myself away just in time. As I took in exactly who I had almost bumped into, a gasp left me before I could stop it. Ultra Violet. I’d recognize that signature ponytail and obnoxious purple outfit from miles away.
She whipped around to find whatever had made the sound I’d involuntarily emitted. I pressed my back against a wall away from this other small courtyard that she was in. I hadn’t gotten an exact number, but I’d seen a few other people in the background before I’d hurried to hide.
A business deal, I supposed, was going on.
I could feel Ultra Violet growing closer, and just as she was about to round the corner and see me, someone called her name.
“What?” she spat to whoever had spoken. The familiar voice grating on my nerves even as it sent my skin crawling with trepidation. I was about to make my exit when the gang member’s words froze me in place.
“Ikarashi’s guys say they need more time to get everything here.”
What? My uncle’s yakuza were still operating? How was that possible with him in jail? I might’ve thought that someone else had taken over, but the person had said Ikarashi’s guys, not someone else’s. I strained to hear more, calling upon my whispers to carry their words closer.
Ultra Violet scoffed. “Are you serious? They’ve never had this problem before.”
“Must be ‘cause the old man’s in jail,” the person — it sounded like a woman — laughed. “I hear his soldier’s out of action, too.”
“Watch it,” Ultra Violet snarled, “He might be old, but you don’t want to get in trouble with his gang. I won’t stick my neck out for an idiot.”
Silence from the other woman. “Even with him in jail, they still have to keep up with their end of our bargain. Tell them they have one day to get us our stuff or the deal’s off and we pay them with something not as nice,” Ultra Violet finished with a cackle.
The gang member hurried to obey and walked away, leaving me speechless. So Ikarashi was in jail. But then how was the gang still working? I’d assumed the ninja — or the police, I supposed — would apprehend as many of the criminals at the base as possible, but it appeared they’d done a terrible job at breaking the syndicate down.
That was definitely disappointing. A frown settled on my features, but I forced myself to walk away. This wasn’t my problem anymore. Tempest worked for criminals, but Mari did not fight them.
Aware of the fact that someone could now be following me, I used my newfound knowledge of the streets and alleys to take the most bizarre and random path back to the apartments, stopping at a few places for minutes at a time to throw off potential pursuers.
Eventually, I made it back to the roof beside the apartment building and scaled the wall before leaping onto the ledge and shimmying my way back to my windowsill.
I hefted the window up carefully, wincing at the quiet creak the wooden frame made as it lifted and closed again. Now in the safety of the apartment, I released a sigh.
My exploration trip had proven more revealing than I’d thought it would, and I didn’t know whether it was a good thing I learned about the yakuza still being active or not. I could have been perfectly content being ignorant to its activity, but that possibility was stolen from me.
Deep down, I felt the need to do something about it, but I knew that would most likely just worsen matters and endanger myself and Skylor, which was not an option.
Letting out another sigh, I took a glance at the clock on my dresser. 3:29 p.m. I grimaced. At least it was the weekend now. I wasn’t meeting Nya until around eleven, so I’d let myself sleep until about nine and tackle the day with a good six hours of sleep.
I started stripping off the layers of dark clothing, scrunching my nose at the feeling of sweat clinging to my skin. Judging by the exertion I’d had to use while vaulting from roof to roof, I was noticeably out of practice with parkour.
I flopped onto the edge of my bed, muscles aching and deciding I’d take a shower when I woke up, idly thinking back to the self-defense class Lloyd had mentioned yesterday. It would be a good way to get some practice, I mused.
“I’ll check it out next week,” I murmured after loosing another sigh, pulling a thin blanket over myself and letting myself drift into that familiar tug of sleep.
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A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It's slow going to get all the action, mystery, and romance parts of this fic in each chapter, but I still love writing it!
