#basicallyjaywalker150fictravaganza

His throne was a glacier, built with his own powers, his energy, his essence. 

His throne room was the frozen ocean, vast and inhospitable. The only living beings that dared pass through were himself, his advisor, and the guards that made their rounds. Their punctuality was the only way he kept time anymore.

His empire was barren, overtaken by the ice. His ice. His subjects either learned to cope or succumbed to it. Their preserved bodies littered the tundra, a warning spread through whispers amongst the people. 

He was an emperor. A symbol of might, of terror, of strength. He was an iceberg. He was an all-consuming blizzard. 

He dreamed. 

He hated his dreams. He was always in a vast forest. There was always a snowstorm swirling, obscuring his vision. The air was always crisp, and if he focused he could catch something between sickly sweetness and earthiness clinging to the world around him. He was always acutely aware of the absence of something, though exactly what eluded him. He simply always knew there was always an emptiness within the world. 

Sometimes there were beasts with long limbs and hollow eye sockets, but they did not disturb him. They simply passed by, their towering bodies stretching up into the gray sky. 

Sometimes there was someone with him. 

A man with messy hair, white like fresh snow, dressed in the same color. He wore something over his eyes. The emperor felt he knew what they were called, once, but that couldn’t be true. Nothing like them existed in his empire.

Whenever he saw the man, the emperor would just watch him as he went about menial tasks. The man spoke, but the emperor couldn’t hear him, as if wind was constantly rushing right past his ears and drowning everything out. 

The emperor awoke from these dreams agitated. He tried to get his advisor to tell him who the man was, but he insisted he had never seen nor heard of him before. 

“A figment of imagination, your eminence. Do not let it trouble you.”

And so he did not. His advisor was always right. He had rescued the emperor from certain death after being ousted by the traitor. He restored his throne. He reclaimed his throne room. He returned the emperor to his glory.

---

Zane still had those dreams, even after his return. 

They weren’t uncommon before his tenure as the Ice Emperor. He often dreamed of his father and him wandering the Birchtree Forest where they lived. However, something felt wrong about the dreams he had during and after his time in the Never-Realm. He couldn’t explain it. It was like watching a different cut of a film he’d seen a  million times before. There were details missing, but he couldn’t remember them. 

He tried to reach into his memory banks for them, but was met with nothing. The previous version of his dreams didn’t exist anymore. All that existed was the incomplete, glitched version.

Every time he woke up from that dream afterwards, his face was wet. He hated it. He missed something that seemed to have never existed. More than that, he knew, he hated that he felt like it was his fault for forgetting. His own memories were obscured by a horrific episode of megalomania in which he had no choice. At least, that’s what the others said. Truth be told, Zane tried very hard not to dwell on the thought too much. He wanted to imagine he was forced into that role by the manipulation of Vex, but it was fifty years. He was a conqueror, a destroyer, for fifty years, and never thought anything of it? He’d crushed dissent at Vex’s suggestion, but it was still him who brought the hammer down. He froze the changelings because he was worried they would usurp him. Did it matter that Vex told him a lie and he believed it? Would it have been different if they did want to usurp him, destroy him? 

Perhaps that was why he tried not to delve too deep into his memories of that time. They remained only because he couldn’t wipe them without wiping everything else about himself, but sometimes he wished he could. Originally, his father built him with his memory switch to provide that fresh start, to allow him to forget inconvenient histories like his father’s death and their life prior. He built it to protect Zane from pain. He must’ve believed it was worth the cost, since he refused to remove it despite Zane’s request upon their reunion. At the time Zane believed it wasn’t worth it to avoid the pain if he had to forget all the good that came before, but sometimes, in the dark and cold nights where he couldn’t sleep because of the visions of Ice Samurai and innocents encased in bergs that plagued him, he wondered if his father was right. 

Then he would remind himself of his friends. He thought of Pixal and her warm smile, Jay and his neverending bad puns, Kai and his fierce loyalty, Cole and his firm reassurance, Nya and her cunning wit, Lloyd and his unconditional love, and Master Wu’s constant support and guidance. He thought of them and he knew he could never forget. Even if he could build a new life with them, flip the switch, remove it, then make up some grand lie about what happened, those memories were irreplaceable. 

The unfortunate consequence of wanting to remember his friends meant he had to remember every time he failed. 

He had to remember finding Pixal disassembled in the labyrinth beneath Chen’s Island.

He had to remember when Cole fell off the Bounty and into the uncertain shadows of the Oni invasion.

He had to remember Lloyd’s face as he begged, pleaded with Zane to remember who he was.

Every time he failed and someone got hurt. Maybe that was another reason he couldn’t just forget and start over. They couldn’t just reset. They still had to live with the consequences. 

So Zane would lay there in the morning, face wet with tears. If he was unable to forget, how come he couldn’t remember? His father’s voice and the look and feeling of his home when he was young were fading. What was the point of having a computer for a brain if it just lost memories like a normal brain?!

Then one night, he ended up in that place again. His home. 

Tall birchwoods towered into the cloud-speckled sky. Small rays of sunshine peeked through gray clouds, turning patches of snow on the ground into clouds themselves. Dr. Julien sat on one of these patches, with Zane beside him, shaded by the skyward stretching trunk of a tree. He could hear animals going about their lives around them. Squirrels scuttled through trees, cardinals flew through the air, and even a few bees came up and settled on the sparse greenery around them. 

Zane heaved out a single word. “Father.”

“Hello, Zane, isn’t it such a pleasant morning?”

“Father, it’s been so long.”

The doctor tilted his head. “What do you mean? I only left you and Falcon alone for a moment.”

“No, it’s that… Never mind. I simply missed you.”

“Well, that is sweet of you. I’m glad you decided to join me. Spring is almost here, you know. It’s always nice when a bit of life returns to this place. The primrose will be blooming soon.”

“Yes…” Zane took a deep breath. “Father?”

“Yes, Zane?”

“May I ask you something peculiar?”

“Of course, son. What’s on your inquisitive mind today?”

“What should I do if I ever start to forget things?”

He paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if years go by and I forget days like this, where we both sat together and talked? What if one day I forget your voice or your face? What if one day I forget… you?”

“Well… that won’t happen for quite a few more years. Why does it worry you now?”

“I’m simply curious.”

Dr. Julien hummed. He pulled his glasses off and painstakingly cleaned the lenses. Zane locked onto his every motion, inscribing it into the artificial synapses of his mind. If he knew how to in the dream, he would motion capture the process so that he could recreate it. 

“I suppose it’s something we all have to deal with. Our brains can only hold so much information. There are days I find myself slowly forgetting the details of my friends' faces, the voices of those I loved…”

“So what do you do?”

He shrugged. “There is nothing you can do. You can swear to yourself you will never forget, that you will commit every minutiae to memory, you will remember a person or place or story over and over until one day it’s simply… gone. I suppose that’s why they invented photographs. You can never forget if it’s preserved, but even those will fade over time, or you can forget the when and why and who of their taking. There are photos in my scrapbook of people I know I once knew, but whose names I can no longer recall… Zane? Are you alright?” Julien reached over, turning his son’s face and seeing the fresh trails coasting down his cheeks. He wiped them with the sleeve of his white overcoat. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean to upset you. I believe I must’ve gotten too wrapped up in my own melancholy.”

“I don’t want to forget you, father. Never.”

“Zane…” Dr. Julien shook his head, his deep brown eyes full of softness. “One day, you will, and it will be okay. You may forget the details of my appearance, or all of our memories together, but you will always remember who I was to you. You will always remember your father.”

Despite the fresh tears still replacing the old ones on his face, Zane nodded. “You will always be a part of me.”

“Yes, I will, son.”

Zane woke up, the wetness of his face following him to consciousness. He sat up, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his pajamas. From the half-closed blinds, a beam of golden morning light shone directly on his bed. 

Pottery classes wouldn’t have been Jay’s first idea for a birthday gift to himself, but he could never dodge his mother’s chipper voice in his head. 

Coupons! They’re like an excuse to do things. Always keep your eyes out for the real deals… From there, she’d go into a spiel about good versus bad deals, ones designed to make you spend money rather than save it, and eventually that would develop into discussions of unit prices and store brands and what-have-you about “mother’s know-how.” 

All that to say, when the coupon came in for “Free Pottery Lessons!” with the purchase of a starter pack, Jay knew how to calculate the value. Cost was the starter pack, lessons would cover all of the basics of pottery, he would be able to make more cool gifts for his friends and family… worth it. Plus, the studio said once he finished his lessons, he was still welcome to come back and use their equipment to mold and fire the clay. Plus plus, if he decided he didn’t like it, he could always use the clay and tools in the starter kit for another project. No matter what, there wasn’t a way to lose! His mom would be so proud. 

And that was how he ended up sitting in front of a clay-stained table, almost a month after his birthday, sculpting. Now Nya’s birthday was coming up and he was making her a seagull figurine. Unfortunately, they hadn’t gotten to the “figurine” part in his basics classes, so Jay was having to wing it with what he knew. However, what he knew seemed to be very lumpy and not very gull-like. 

He frowned, examining the vaguely bird-shaped lump of clay on the table. Its legs were short and thick, holding the uneven, bulbous body up off the table. Jay had thought he made wings, but they seemed to be lost within the sinking mass. The head was little more than a drooping oval, the end of which molded into the torso much too high up (or maybe this gull's neck was just in the middle of its spine). 

… Yeah, he couldn’t pass this off as a seagull. He could barely pass it off as a bird. Maybe he should just make Nya something else.

 Just as he reached to put his tools up, the studio door opened behind him and he spun around to see his teacher, Kat, in her clay stained apron.

“Ah, pardon me,” She smiled at him and raised her hand in a wave, it was stained reddish orange, “just grabbin’ somethin’ for my next group. Whatcha makin’?”

“Something for Nya,” Jay said, trying to shield the misshapen heap from her view. The light-up grin on Kat’s face told him he failed. 

“What a lovely turtle! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“It’s supposed to be a seagull.”

“Oh.” 

Jay sighed. “Yeah, we’re not quite there yet.”

“Well,” she clapped her hands together, sending a few splatters of rust-colored clay flying, ”trust the process! It’ll turn out swell, I’m sure. Do you need a reference?”

“That might help,” was what he said out loud. What he thought was, I know what a seagull looks like. I don’t think looking at another one is going to help. Still, he managed to hold his tongue. As much as he liked Kat, some days, her teaching just bugged him. She always went on about “the process.” Trust the process! Everything looks bad until it’s done! Sometimes, it even looks bad after, it’s just the artist's way. 

As she left the room, Jay continued ruminating on that idea. Trust the process. He stared at the ugly lump on his table. He wasn’t sure “the process” could save this one. Still, he supposed giving it a try was better than giving up. 

Frowning, he tried to fix the head, adding some clay to make it rounder, more… sharp? Less like a turtle. A few globs there, a dab here, some shaping… hey! Now that was a seagull. The legs could use some carving, but they were sleeker now; he could actually make out the shape of wings in the blobby body, and the neck wasn’t coming out of the middle of the spine! Jay could almost envision the thing trying to steal his french fries on the beach, as long as he was squinting really, really hard. Slowly, he drew his hands away.

Immediately, the head drooped and detached from the rest of the body.

“Oh, come on!” Jay exclaimed just as Kat walked back in and interrupted what was about to be a long string of words about the clay, gravity, and the concept of seagulls in general. In her hands she cradled a majestic gull perched on a rock, caught mid-caw.

“This is from one of our old students. She left it here and never came back, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you used it as reference.”

“Thanks.” Jay took the figurine and examined it. It was a simple shape, lots of round circles, and some small details for the wings and feet. It looked easy enough to make. Looked being the keyword. 

Kat looked at the self-decapitated bird and tilted her head. “Fix-it attempt gone horribly, horribly wrong?”

He nodded, pursing his lips. 

“You’ll get it,” she said, spirited as ever, “it just takes some time to master, y’know? New skills and all that.”

He nodded again. She’d told him the same thing during his first few lessons, when the teacup he tried to make for Master Wu ended up looking more like a soup bowl made by an avant-garde artiste. He knew she was right, it was just the way learning went, but it didn’t stop the nagging irritation he felt staring at the pathetic pile of muddy material in front of him. 

“I’ve gotta get my next class started, lemme know if you need anything else.”

One last nod and Kat was gone, leaving him alone again. Jay sat down and continued to stare at the distended body. He placed his new reference next to it and felt the minute bit of confidence that sprouted from his forming gull fly away. 

Maybe he could pass his off as a seagull that went through a tsunami or earthquake. Then again, that felt a little too morbid. Maybe a mutant seagull, left alive to propagate his species after a nuclear apocalypse wiped out the rest, save for him and the perfect specimen sat beside him, a symbol of a simpler time? 

No, that was too far-fetched. 

Sighing, Jay figured his best way out was to start from scratch. He pushed the majestic reference gull out of the blast radius before slamming his fist down on his failure. The wet clay gave easily under the force, body and head merging into one flat, knuckle-imprinted puddle. Jay knew it wasn’t necessary—and rather messy—to do it this way, but it allowed him some sort of catharsis. That alone made it worth the bit of splash onto his apron and face. 

Now, he could start again. 

His hands started to shape the clay, eyes focused on the reference as he tried to imitate the product in front of him. He didn’t need the rock, just the bird. That was enough of a change to keep it from being plagiarism, right? Could you plagiarize a clay sculpture?

As he worked, his mind wandered. Initially, it was just about the concept of plagiarism and if copying the reference counted. He was pretty sure he watched a video recently on that. Could one plagiarize an artstyle the same way they plagiarized research? Then it moved to the feeling of the clay. It squished under his hands like mud, but held like a sand castle. He used to build sand castles in his yard, when he was too young to help his parents build their various projects. His mom would give him a water bottle and tell him his job was to make a palace for the nearby ants to live in. Jay took his job very seriously, working fastidiously far after his parents went inside and even when Edna tried to call him in for dinner. He never truly mastered the art, despite various attempts to mimic the grandiose castles he saw in the storybooks his father used to lull him to sleep. His castles always ended up a solid mound. No doors, no windows, and definitely no rooms where the creatures nearby could rest. 

Well, that little memory didn’t bode well for this project. 

Jay clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus on the task at hand, but still his thoughts swirled about his head like a storm. He was good at so many things, how come castles and seagulls outsmarted him? He was an inventor, for First’s sake! Sure, he fell out of practice recently, but he’d done it his whole life! Surely no one loses skills that fast, right? All his years of practice should amount to something, should translate to making a clay bird? But wires and gears and cogs were so much different than clay. They were rigid, fixed. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle and always worked as intended. They were predictable. Clay wasn’t like that. It morphed not only under the weight of its creator’s hands, but under its own. Sometimes, it held its shape perfectly, strong like a tree in a storm. Other times, as Jay experienced over his time learning to sculpt pots and cups, it drooped or flattened or folded itself over like a cloud rolling over the horizon. Capricious, that’s the word he would use to describe it. Clay was capricious.

Okay, maybe inventing wasn’t his best comparison. He rifled through his skills toolbox again. An art form would serve better as a comparison. Painting? Paints could be difficult too. When he first started learning, driven by the small pieces his father used to make of the night sky, he hated it. The paints always turned to a muddy mess on his canvases, leading him to ruin more than one still-wet attempt by throwing it into the sand. He only got the hang of it after sitting down with his dad one day, both of them looking to capture a gorgeous eagle that landed in their junkyard. It was rare to see them in the Sea of Sands, as they preferred the shores of Ninjago more, but here this one was, perched on a pile of scrap his dad pulled out for a project the day before. At first, Jay didn’t understand why his dad had a sketchbook and pencil out or why he took a picture of the bird. Instead, Jay went straight to trying to capture its glossy feathers and curved beak, only to be vexed when the browns and whites he was using merged into one murky beige. He tried to fix it, but the problem only worsened until, with a yell, he scribbled over the whole thing in black. The commotion frightened the bird away, which only served to heighten Jay’s frustration. Great. Great! The bird was gone. Now he had to remember what it looked like to try and paint it again. 

That was when his father picked up his painting, examining the mess he made. He commented on how they would have to repurpose the canvas for something else and Jay felt a hot flush of shame hit his cheeks. He apologized for his outburst, but his dad just patted his head and sat with him. He explained how painting wasn’t just about putting paint on the canvas, but how you needed a sketch to start with so you could have an idea of how to make the picture by hand, how to plan your layers so your colors wouldn’t all mix, and how to control your brush so there were no stray bumps in the smooth lines. Jay still didn’t fully get it, but this time he actually finished the painting. It was rough, looking closer to a pigeon than an eagle, but it was dry and not covered in sand. His dad hung it up in their living room. 

Maybe Jay could draw on his painting skills. Paint was finicky, often felt like it had a mind of its own. Surely, there was something within this childhood memory that could help him out now?

Splat.

The noise roused Jay from his thoughts. In his daydreaming, he’d pulled the neck of the gull out too thin and the head—which was just a little bead at the end of the spaghetti string—now drooped on the table. 

Dammit. 

Jay squished the horror noodle back into the body and checked his watch. The place closed in an hour. He’d made no progress. His deadline wasn’t imminent (Nya’s birthday wasn’t for another few weeks) but it still weighed heavy on his mind. He wanted to get something done today, before Kat asked him to clean up. There was no telling when an attack on Ninjago might drag him away from this, swallowing his time and bringing the date closer and closer until he was forced to rush the project to completion.

Change of plans. He wasn’t good at sculpting, but he wasn’t willing to switch to painting. He was going to make the most of this studio and his work so far. He was good at engineering. He stared at the clay. This gull wasn’t a sculpture, it was a… a machine! Like Zane’s Falcon. Yeah, he could work with that.

First step of the process, separate the parts. Separation was easy, since the limbs of this bird seemed intent on breaking apart. There was the head, the wings, the feet, the torso… he could break those down further! The head had eyes, a beak, feathers on top? Little hairs? Whatever. The point was, he could break it down. He could maybe get somewhere with that.

What next? He had the parts, now he had to figure out how they fit together. The bird needed a base, otherwise its feet would be too small for its body (or alternatively, to support itself its feet would need to be comically large, which must’ve been why the original had a rock base). Then, the torso rested on the feet. The wings then melded to the torso, becoming almost part of it. The head was connected by the neck, which needed to be enough to set it apart from the body, but not too long and skinny that it would fall. That’s where his issue was. The first-forsaken neck. Solve that, he solved the whole thing.

Maybe he was a genius. Maybe he’d finally cracked the code! …Okay, maybe he already knew that was the problem, but breaking it down helped! The storm in his brain calmed and he could focus his attention on the task at hand: fixing this stupid bird before Kat—

“Hey, Jay!”

Are you kidding me?

Kat bounded over, her apron, arms, and even parts of her face stained orangish brown with clay. She grinned from ear to ear as she settled back into her spot across from Jay. “How’s it going?”

“Eh, fine. I’m just trying to figure out how to make the neck work.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I can’t figure out how to make it look like a neck, y’know? Like… How do birds even function? I know their necks aren’t super complicated, but it’s like I put the head on and it all goes splat!”

“Have you been using an armature?” 

“...what?” 

Kat burst into giggles. “You’ve not been using an armature this entire time? It’s what helps the clay keep its shape. You’ve been freeballing it?”

“I didn’t know!” Jay protested. This whole time he’d been missing a key part of the body—robotic, flesh, or clay—skeleton! Muscles! That’s why the stupid bird kept self-decapitating! It had no bones! How hadn’t I realized?!

Kat leaned over, examining the bird while Jay’s face cycled through shades of red. “Well, in that case, as an act of freestanding feathered figurine formation, you haven’t done a half bad job.” She held her hand out. “And if you can come back tomorrow, I’ll show you how to make a wire armature. Then, we can get you going on this project, for real this time. Deal?”

“I’ll try to make it.” Jay sighed and held his hand out, still covered in clay. “Deal.”

After a messy handshake, Jay washed, put away his tools, gathered his things, and left. The late afternoon sun hung lazily above the horizon, not ready to dip fully out of sight, leaving the sky a brilliant, cloudless azure. The golden light reflected off the lush zelkova trees that lined the sidewalk outside, turning the leaves chartreuse. Crickets chirped quietly at their feet and in their branches, warming up for their song later in the evening. Other than that, the streets were quiet. Warm rays hit his face and he sighed. In the distance, he could smell something cooking, maybe a barbecue in the residential area a few blocks over? His stomach growled. It really was time for him to head home.

Tomorrow, he’d come back and make an armature. Then, that stupid bird would finally come into form. 

A light dusting of snow covered the purple hyacinths and lavender flowers left on the base of Zane’s statue. It was odd for Ninjago City to get snow this early into spring, especially when the flowers were already blooming. Kai would have liked to think that it was Zane sending them a message, but he knew that wasn’t true. Zane was gone.

How long had it been since they lost him? Kai stopped keeping track a month in. Thinking about it didn’t help, that just brought back the twisting dagger in his gut, a reminder of how he failed him. 

Pixal would say something smart to that. She always acted like she had the answer to everything. She and Kai had gotten close since the funeral, becoming a kind of odd couple. Pixal was one of the few people Kai still talked to regularly. He’d fallen off with Cole and Jay almost immediately after the funeral. Lloyd and Nya stuck around for a while, but after he stopped visiting Garmadon’s monastery, he stopped talking to Lloyd and only saw Nya every few weeks. Pixal was the only one he saw every day, usually meeting her during the singular break she took from work. 

Since Zane died, Pixal threw herself into her work. Not only did she assist Cyrus, she devoted her time to some “independent project” she wouldn’t tell Kai about. Despite her secrecy, he was sure it had to do with Zane. 

He took a deep breath, trying to smell the sweet scent of spring from the flowers in front of him. All he came up with was bitter cold. 

---

He met Pixal outside that evening. Her breaks were always late, but this was later than normal. The sun was setting and the neon lights of Ninjago City glowed along with the cool white light of streetlamps. The pair sat in the alley next to Borg Tower, away from the streets bustling with people who just got off work and were excited to head home. This wasn’t Kai’s ideal location. He hated being near Borg Tower, but Pixal said she wasn’t able to go out this time, so Kai went anyway. He liked seeing her more than he hated being around that place, he supposed. 

In her lap, Pixal held one of the packed lunches that came from the building’s cafeteria. Though Pixal always brought food out on her break, Kai never saw her eat. Usually, she just gave it to him, figuring he hadn’t eaten all day. Usually, she was right, too. 

At least the food was good.

They were quiet. Conversations between them took a moment to start. A few minutes spent in the raw silence, listening to the whirr of engines on the roads, the murmuring of crowds on phones, the occasional caw of birds flying from one pole or building to another, then they would begin. Pixal would bring up some benign aspect of her work or Kai would mention something he saw in a shop and they would continue from there. 

“Cyrus is working on a new model of the Borg Phone.”

“Again? Didn’t the last one just come out?”

“Indeed. I believe he is trying to keep spirits up while we all work on getting back to normal.”

“Seems like things already are,” murmured Kai, watching the crowds navigate the streets nearby, most of their heads bowed and pushing past everyone else to get home faster.

Pixal watched with him, resting her head against the cement wall. She sighed. “Perhaps it is just us who are stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“It has been almost four weeks since the funeral. Twenty-six days. And yet, we are still…” She tried to find the words.

“Mourning?” Kai supplied.

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Eh, it’s not abnormal. Not like the others seem to be handling it any better. Nya says Lloyd just helps his dad teach classes, otherwise he’s in his room. She’s kept working on her own projects, upgrading the SamX suit. I haven’t seen Cole or Jay since the funeral.”

Pixal hummed. “I saw something interesting the other day on the news. There are rumors Jay’s getting a TV show.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe Cole has too, just in a less… public way.”

Kai was quiet. He tried to take it in. His teammates were off doing their own things now. Lloyd was teaching, taking up the mantle of his uncle and father. Jay was starting a new TV show, likely about to put his over-the-top personality to use. Cole had run off, just like he’d done when Master Wu first found him. Even Nya found purpose in her alter ego. And he was… where exactly? Kai couldn’t think of anything he’d done in the past few weeks, besides leave a bouquet of now frosted flowers on Zane’s grave. His days were spent aimlessly wandering from park to park, place to place. Sometimes he found himself drifting to the underbelly of the city, but he could never bring himself to do it. 

He had Pixal. She was someone he could count on. Visiting her every day, even if it was only for thirty short minutes between her own work, her own purpose, it kept him afloat.

Kai felt himself jolt up from where he’d gotten into his own comfy position on the wall, dropping the piece of falafel that was halfway to his mouth when he started his digression. A bit of the tahini sauce in the plastic container jumped back out and hit his shirt. 

Then he noticed Pixal looking at him. “Is everything alright?”

Kind of. This was not the realization Kai needed to be having right now. He was barely over the first one which hit him over the head during his eulogy at Zane’s funeral. 

Now shaking, Kai took a napkin out and wiped the small stain off his shirt, paying more attention to it than needed. His brain whirred. She kept him afloat. He was here because of her. 

“Kai?”

“I’m alright, I’m okay.” He really needed to work on his lying skills. 

“I don’t believe you are. Please, are you thinking about Zane now?” 

“No- well, yes, but no-”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking about you,” he blurted and before he could stop himself he said, “You’re my world.”

Her watch went off. She frowned and stood. “I’m sorry, Kai. I have to go. We’ll have to discuss this another time.”

“Wait, Pix--”

And then she was gone without a sound. Kai felt an anger bubbling up inside him. One he hadn’t felt in weeks. Not at Pixal, but himself. What was he thinking? He couldn’t come back tomorrow. He couldn’t come back at all. 

He grabbed his things and stood, fighting back the licks of flame that he could feel sparking up to the surface. There went his anchor, the last good thing in his life. Now he was the only one without purpose. 

He merged into the crowds, pulling up the hood of his jacket in an attempt to not be recognized. Not that anyone would. He was another face in the crowd. 

What could he do? He could try and find Nya, sob to her about everything, but then would he just drag her down too? His stomach was twisted in knots. What could he do? What could he do? 

Rules:

Movieverse and showverse are fair game.

Up to 3 rerolls on any dice across all prompts. This is to make sure the prompt is something workable while also keeping the challenge

All elements of the dice must be included in the fic somehow. In the title, in the body, or in the background. However big or small doesn't matter, but you have to include all 3 things somehow

Nothing 18+. This is self-explanatory

Some requests permitted. Want a specific side character, villain, ship, or other thing included? One special requests may be made on each ask!

Pilots through DR S1 are fair game. I know DR S2 is releasing soon, but in the interest of keeping things spoiler free, we're going to be leaving it out.

Dates:

Asks may be sent between Tuesday, April 2nd and Tuesday, April 30th

The last day to complete an optional fic is Tuesday, May 7th

Prizes:

Should you choose to complete an optional challenge fic of your own, you have the chance to win one of three prizes. Winners and prices will be announced one week after the final fic is submitted

1st Place: one long fic with any elements of your choosing

2nd Place: one medium fic with any elements of your choosing

3rd Place: one short fic with any elements of your choosing

What Do the Dice Mean?

d4: Length

Flash (<500), short (500-1000), medium (1000-2500), or long (2500-5000)

d6: Core Ninja

Kai, Jay, Cole, Zane, Lloyd, or Nya

d8: Music

Whatever number it lands on, skip that many times on Spotify DJ and use the song that comes up

d10: Random Word

Whatever number it lands on, go into this random work generator and generate that many words to use in the fic

d12: Random AU

Whatever number it lands on, set the fic in that AU from a list I have

d20: Random Trope

Whatever number it lands on, include that trope from a list I have

d100: Random Quantity

Both of your fics were fucking phenomenal. Both of you appealed to me specifically with moments of insecurity, fear, and anxiety. Both of you featured Jay which is like step one to winning my heart.

It was genuinely difficult to choose between the two, however, i want you both to know that these fics are going to be ones I never forget. they were sweet, well-written, and drew me in. Ngl if either of you have any other ninjago writing i'm unaware of you should tell me <3

Now. The placements. Drumroll please.

🥁🥁🥁

Bruise Drabble by someloserinajaywig/Leo !

College Blues by crying-over-cartoons/Grey !

Congratulations to you both! You've both earned a prize

Leo, for you I will write one long (2500-5000 words) oneshot

Grey, for you I will write one medium (1000-2500 words) oneshot!

The limits for these fics are the same as the general event prompting (linked here so you don't have to scroll back to find it, with the only difference being I will write DRS2! please ignore the severely outdated dates... time is an illusion) except now rather than sending in dice you just send in whatever you want me to write about!

I've learned my lesson. I have no idea when I will finish these, but luckily with winter break coming up I should make headway! Do not ask about what will happen when i do my study abroad that is between me and the First Master