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doriwrites · 3 years

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okayo so continuation of the excerpt i posted wayyy back about bendis and nasar, IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND NOTHING NADA RIEN DU TOUT (find it under the where stories go to die tag) (+completely IGNORE the shitty worldbuilding you’re just here for the feels) (++ this is still somewhat relevant since even though the story has drastically changed, the characters are still the same so i guess i could almost call that a AU) (+++ it gets violent at the beginning)

One day, when she’s practicing touch, she notices the scars. There’s one on her stomach and one on her chest. There’s one on her cheek and one on her ankle. She’s happy— no, at peace with them. Because they’re a reminder. Of what she lost and what she gained. They’re a reminder that she survived. A reminder that she lived and that she will keep living. They’re a goal. They’re a promise.

One day, when she’s practicing sound, she hears something she doesn't like. At all. Nasar left this morning and she’s alone in the forest where everything but the trees and the birds is quiet. He told her to stay put but. She hears it and she can’t unhear it.

“...from the institute… bad shape but good batch.”

“Boss will be pleased… the Bel kid and his…”

“...magic users? Damn, kids these days.”

“Right? Look at all the good it does them.”

There’s something like a struggle, a harsh sound and a whimper. And she knows. She just— she knows. But Nasar is not here and she can barely walk ten minutes without falling face first on the ground. And this is a forest with trees and roots and— and there’s nothing she can do and it’s been a while since she last felt so helpless she almost forgot the hows and the whys.

The footsteps and the voices get clearer and— and she does something stupidstupidstupid but she can’t. She can’t help it. She hopes Nasar will get there before they get close enough but he doesn’t. She thumbs at the little blade he gave her (“To protect yourself.”) and wonders how he’ll feel when he finds her dead body. When they pass by the trees she’s hiding behind, she lunges. Her war cry is cut short when a foot hits her in the chest and she hits a trunk. It hurts but she gets up and focuses on the sounds. There’s a harsh laugh, nothing like Nasar’s and she doesn’t have time to separate and analyse and compartmentalize because there’s a hand in her hair and it yanks. She’s dangling from the ground and trashing and snarling and— and maybe she’s crying, too, because her scalp is burning and it hurts.

“There’s a wild one. Look at that. Very… feral,” someone says in her face and she doesn’t think and just— She doesn’t know how because she’s a kid and they’re a grown adult but. She didn’t let go of the blade and they don’t seem to care and. She plunges it in flesh. Again and again and again and for as long as it takes for them to let her go. “Fucking… hell. What— What the fuck,” the voice says, and then, seething, “What the fuck.”

The threads— she thinks there might be four people. She’s not sure. She doesn't now because there’s a fist in her gut and she falls to her knees. Someone is laughing and it’s mean. She wants Nasar. She wants. She wants. But there’s a fist in her face. Again and again and again. And she can’t hear anything but the blood in her ears and her bones breaking and. And she thinks about Nasar and how he will find her dead body.

But then. Then. The voice without a voice, the presence. Greedy, with its grudges. The magic. Hers.

did you forget that you were born in blood

did you forget that you were born in war

did you forget that you must live

Her threads. They feel alive and she forgot about them like one forget about one’s body. It’s here, always, but. One only remembers when it hurts.

And so, they lunge, too. Wrap themselves around the toxic ones and yank, too. They slither around a hand and two. They slither up, up, up an arm and two. And they crush. They crush and she thinks she can hear the bones breaking. They crush and she thinks she can hear the screams. They crush hard, unforgiving and she feels the how dare you. There’s a bundle of them crawling up a leg, a torso and then a neck. The snake-like threads yank and the crack echoes through her bones. She wants to throw up and she wants to black out but there’s another one.

did you forget that you were born for blood

did you forget that you were born for war

did you forget that you must live

They weave their way to a foot, they yank at an ankle, at a knee, they yank at a whole damn pelvis and for good measure, they wrap themselves around a neck and crushcrushcrush until there’s nothing left to crush but blood and bones.

She throws up. She throws up and she’s shaking and crying and she can’t hear anything but the headache pounding in her ears. Her body hurts. Everything smells like blood. Her threads smell— feel like blood as they wrap around her with nothing of the vicious killing intent from before. From a moment ago. They wrap around her limbs gently, like a caress. They wrap around her body and she throws up again. They wrap, wrap, wrap until they’re a mockery of the cocoon she likes to make with Nasar’s.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. She doesn’t know. But something touches her and she lashes out like an animal with no escape route. She trashes and trashes and trashes until she notices everything still hurts. She trashes because she can’t hear and she can’t see and she doesn’t— Hands take a hold of her own and bring them to a face.

There’s a long nose and lots of eyebrows. There’s a beard and some wrinkles. She realizes there’s threads, too. Sharp but somehow soft. She sobs and goes limp in Nasar’s arms. Her own threads are still wrapped around her and she knows they’re healing her. She wishes they wouldn’t. Because she doesn’t like them. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She— She shudders as she remembers what they did (what she did?).

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. Wrapped in her threads and his arms. She’s being spoon fed and drinks greedily from a flask. She sleeps a lot but does not dream. She moves only if she’s moved and can’t think much. When she wakes, however briefly, she hears voices like they’re behind a wall or in a bottle. There’s two. One familiar and one unknown. Sometimes she thinks she can feel something wet but warm nuzzling at her cheek. She wants to reach out. She wants. She wants. She— she sleeps.

When she wakes up for good and her threads go back to hide in her body, there’s voices. Nasar’s and someone else’s. Her head is pillowed on something warm and. And there’s fur in her mouth and in her nose. She sneezes. And the nuzzling is back. She wants to reach out, so she does. It’s a snout. A tongue licks at her wrist. There’s pointy ears and she’s sure there’s a tail around her middle. It feels like a dog but she can’t be sure.

There's a hand in her hair and she flinches. She flinches so hard and ugly that the creature yelps. "Hey, hey," it's Ringo Nasar, her friend—protector—bounty-huntermurderer— her friend and his voice is soft when he says it's me. It shakes a little when he says you're fine. She grabs his arm and clings so hard and ugly that the man yelps. He yelps and she laughs. It's a small sound full of tears and relief and something like love. It sounds like a thank you and she hopes he hears it. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, soft, gentle, kind— kinder than most things, kinder than she deserves maybe.

At once, she remembers what she did, what her threads— what they did. She shudders. Hard and uglyuglyugly— Two lives. She took two lives and she's not sure she can ever forget the sound of breaking bones and the feel of someone else's blood on her threads. She took two lives and Nasar will not have to find her dead body. She took two lives and she lives.

She feels like throwing up but has almost nothing in her belly and knows it would be a really bad idea to puke on Nasar's cloak. She prepares for a word vomit instead but— "You don't have to talk about it now," he says and she remembers the dog-creature-familiar and the unknown voice. She reaches for sharp silver threads and it soothes raw wounds. "The dog is Remus," he says, "the kid is Valko."

There's some angry sputtering and a he's a wolf and she remembers the two lives she took and the three lives she saved. It’s not very much but it’s hers and the boy’s and his familiar— his familiar. It hurts to even think about and she buries deeper in her friend—protec— her friend’s chest. Her threads are somewhere she can’t see, chastise in a blind spot as she clutches harder at the silver ones. She can see the wolf’s and almost reaches out when she remembers the warm and fuzzy feelings his nuzzling brought but. She’s good where she is and the warm and fuzzy feelings are there, too.

Later, when she lets go of her friend but never of his threads, and everyone is settled around a fire, she notices the boy’s. They look like brimming, boiling water made of anger, desperation and sadness. She’s sure they taste like it, too. But they also look drooping and mopping and something like a pout. It’s both funny and miserable to look at them and she wonders if the boy knows they’re green. Instead, she asks, “What is the Institute?”

The threads quiver. “It’s a school for people like us,” he says and she knows he’s not looking at her, “there’s two in the land alone. A dozen in the country.”

“Do they— do you—”

“Thank you,” he says quickly, quietly, like it burns him, like it frees him, “thank you. I— we wouldn’t… There’s things far worse than death out there and— and we would be it if you didn’t— if you hadn’t…” The threads flutter, quaver. The threads say everything he cannot. Then, he huffs a little laugh and his threads say just how fake it is. “Soft magic is a real pain. Not very useful against— against anything.”

She waits for a bit or two because these are words she ever only heard in passing. “Soft magic?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, “have you never— I mean. Ah,” he sighs when Nasar’s threads sharpen in her hands, “they categorize magic. At the Institute. More like, umbrella terms or— whatever. Soft and hard magic at both ends of the spectrum. Intermediate’s in the middle.”

She doesn’t ask him to demonstrate. She wants to but she doesn’t because it feels like he’s embarrassed or ashamed or both and she doesn’t like it. His threads seem flighty at best and she doesn’t want to scare them— him— away. “What did… what happened? What did it look like?” she asks because there’s no way she can ever know but she wants to so desperately it hurts her brain.

He explains. He explains how he saw everything, half-dazed, half-unconscious. He explains the threads (“They were orange.”) and the deaths (“They crushed until— until they didn’t.”). He explains how they came from right in the middle of your chest and how they wrapped themselves around her after. He explains the magic in the air (“I think I still got some stuck in my lungs.”) and how it was so potent it froze him in place. How it was so potent he could do nothing but watch you (kill-destroy-annihi—). Nasar says it was so potent he knew from a mile away how much trouble she was in.

When they go to sleep that night, all she can think about are her orange threads and the silver ones and the greens and the familiar’s. Before she falls asleep, she wonders if Paprika’s threads would have felt as kind as her and as brave, too. She wonders if Miss Cyn’s are warm and soft and like a smile. She wonders where the dead threads go.

Nasar takes it upon himself to see the boy and his familiar home safely. He surprises her every day and she likes him more each time. They travel far, far away from the forest and the stinky towns and the boy grabs her arm when she trips over roots. He grabs her arm when there’s a tree ahead and he grabs her arm when she stumbles over thin air. His familiar hovers behind and nudges her in the right direction when she wanders off the path. Nasar doesn’t say anything but he guffaws when it ends in flailing limbs and a three bodies pile on the ground.

When they stop to rest and Nasar helps her work on her braille, the green threads are curious and they watch over her shoulder as her fingers work the letters. When they stop to rest and Nasar lands her Little Death, the green threads are interested and they watch as she tries and fails to juggle the heavy weapon around. When they stop to rest and Nasar tells her about the smell of ships and seas and ropes, the green threads are thoughtful and they watch as she asks questions she didn’t know she had. The green threads are curious and interested and thoughtful but the boy is distant and aloof and stiff.

So she asks him if he knows braille and when he answers with a I don’t need to she hands him her book and gives him directions. She asks him if he knows anything about swords and when he answers with a some she demands he teaches her. She asks him if he ever saw the sea and when he answers with a no she tells him what she thinks it looks like. The green threads are content and the boy slumps a little.

They become friends and he tells her about his familiar. He tells how he awakened early and how the wolf didn’t find him for a long while after that. He tells her about the day he did and how it was the best of them all (“Like all the wrongs were righted. Like it made sense.”) and how they never parted from each other since. He tells her how much he loves him (“He’s like a limb. Or— a soul, yeah. Like my soul.”) and how he thinks he would die without him ("If anything were to happen to him…I don't want to think about it.").

She listens carefully and wants to tell him how he would live instead. She wants to tell him how he would feel cut in half and how his thoughts would feel lonely sometimes. Instead, she tells him about Ringo. She tells him how much of a good teacher he was to Nasar ("Because he protects.") and how he gave him Little Death even though it was his. She tells him how she thinks he's dead and how much she's sad about it ("Why?", "I would like to thank him.", "...Why?", "Because he gave me Nasar."). She tells him I miss someone I never met and how she will have a sword named after him someday.

The familiar— Remus— is always near. His threads are fluffy and she wants to pet them but doesn't ask because threads are special and a familiar even more so. It doesn’t keep her from the cuddle fest and she's grateful. He lets her talk to him and even though he never answers, she knows he is listening. He lets her lay close at night and it keeps the frowns and the nightmares at bay. He lets her pet him and be clingy and laughs in his ears and she feels warm.

One day, Valko decides that you can't keep walking into trees every other minute and that he's going to do something about it. He decides she needs a stick or a cane or something and she tells him yes, I do but ends up with a branch instead. He asks why she doesn't have one yet and she says she never really thought about it until now (silver threads tremble with something like shame and she reaches out). She tells him how she doesn’t like crowds much and how towns are difficult to deal with (green threads shake with something like intrigue and she recoils a bit). He tells her oh, so that's why we're in the middle of fucking nowhere and she says mind your language.

The day before they reach the Institute, he tells her about his magic. He tells her it's soft and meek and his voice is small and dejected. He tells her about shifters and a dad who wasn't one. He tells her about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf. He tells her about genetics and she's a little confused. At the end of it, he tells her just how funny he thinks it is that his familiar is a wolf but he can never be. He shrugs against her shoulder and tells her he got the sense of smell and hearing and— everything, I have everything but the wolf.

"You have the wolf," she says.

His thread feels fond when she grabs one, but there's longing there, where she thumbs at its middle. It's a little bit rough but all kind of soft. "I know."

She tells him about his threads. She tells him they're green and how she thinks they're more like moss than leaf but can't be sure because she forgot the little things. She tells him she hopes he looks just like they feel, half-tree, half-child. He tells her I am fourteen, thank you very much and what the hell. She laughs and tells him about birds and nests and he says duh. She tells him how trees can be homes. She tells him how they can be red and gold but she likes them green best. She tells him trees can look old when they're young. She tells him they can be damaged or marked or cracked but can never be moved. He says holy shit, I am a tree and she smiles warm and soft.

When the Institute is in front of her, she's surprised. They went around cities on their way but she thought the school for people like her (child—murderer—magic-user) would be in one. She's wrong. She's terribly wrong and they find themselves in the middle of fucking nowhere ("Shut it!") and green threads are restless. There's a pair of them in front of what she thinks are gates. They look muted somehow. Blurry. A not-even-a-color white.

She realizes she never asked how Valko found himself in the hands of slavers and why he was so far from home. She realizes he never told her. She realizes she never asked if he was alone before her and why he fakes laugh so often. She realizes she doesn't know him very much and she's sad.

They leave him with the muted threads and snot on his jacket. The wolf gets a hug and a lot of thank yous and apologies and petting. They wait until he's let in. They wait until she sees his threads for the last time.

That night, when she's settled in Nasar's cocoon and thinking about a boy and a wolf, she says, "The Institute. Didn't it— didn't it feel odd to you?"

The silver threads tighten around her, "Wait, do you mean the part where they send children to war or was it more about the titanic fortress?"

"...but. We're not at war."

He sighs like it pains him, "There's always a war somewhere, kid."

"Is it— is it like a military? Because those were downtown all the time and Miss Cynn always said they were like leeches but I never understood what that means because I don't know what a leech looks like or what it is—"

"They’re like vampires, they suck blood and happiness out of you."

"—and they were not really nice to the children and women but they were always nice to the drunk men pissing on Madam K’s shoes. I think that one is fair because Madam K was kind of mean sometimes and if they hadn’t pissed on her shoes, I might have—"

"That’s very bold of you."

"—but. Valko was not like that. I mean… I don’t think he was."

"He was not like that. And yes, like a military," he sighs like it burns him, "Young magic-users are given the one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn how to harness, how to control, how to— how to optimize themselves, yeah," he chuckles lowly, "with the best teachers in the world."

"Do you— do you mean for them?"

"Bendis. This world will take every chance it gets— every last one of them— to walk all over you. And these kids… these kids are running out of luck."

"Do you mean luck or—"

"I mean luck. Those people... Bravery means death. Recklessness means death. And not in a Greater Good way but in a look-how-wrong-they-were way. The only way out is… deserting. Which is— it’s a terrible idea."

"Why?"

"Deserters are hunted down. Once you get in, you can’t get out. If you were to leave... ", he sighs like it haunts him, "I— he never asked."

"...We didn’t, either."

His threads buzz with confusion and regrets and protector-friend-protector-prote— They hum with a sort of disquiet she never felt from him before. "I know."

"...You know a lot about them."

"Mh. People seldom differ, kid. Give them power and they will abuse it. It's really that simple."

"What does seldom means and how—"

They stop in a quiet inn, and Nasar leaves in the morning. She decides she has things To Do Today. She takes the branch with her and only runs into thirty two people (to whom she asks directions every time) before she finds the library. The librarian is harder to find still but when she asks her if they have any books in braille, brown threads brighten considerably and she hears a smack and a woman's voice says it's your lucky day! before it leads her to an empty section of the room. There's three books and one of them she already has. She's almost certain another one is about pirates but the last one. The last one says universal spellbook and she reads until she can't. She doesn’t understand everything and when she does it's about rankings and soft-hard-intermediate and category and— she steals the book.

When Nasar comes back and his threads are clean but he smells like blood, he tells her good job and helps her decipher the book. He tells her what he knows about magic ("Everyone has it. There's a hereditary thing going on and awakenings rituals everywhere.") and she levels him with an unimpressed look. He tells her what he thinks he knows ("There's something like neutral magic— the one out there, you know? Not inside us. The magic of the trees and the seas. The one we don't incubate until it implodes, yeah?”) and she goes for his neck. He tells her the spellbook is what we can do with it and she gasps so loud because I didn't know that. Why didn't I kno— "The only way to learn this stuff is through institutes. Or whatever-council approved tutor. This is just a book of spells. Nowhere does it tell you how to— how to cast them. It tells you plenty about their nature but not the way you need to— to work the magic. Universal means for everyone. But everyone is too big a number."

"But people must have tried—"

"They do try. All the time. Sometimes they die trying and they're lucky. Sometimes they get caught and— It's ugly."

She reads the book still. She reads it until she knows the twenty six spells ranked between the letter F and the letter D. She reads it until she knows the difference between soft and intermediate and hard ones. She reads until she knows their categories and common uses and her brain itches. She reads. She reads. She reads. Until the day she doesn’t.

It's late and she's waiting for Nasar in another smelly inn room. When he comes, she has a pillowcase tied around her head and cotton in her ears. He takes her hands from the book and presents them with a cane. It's long and sturdy and nothing like the branch that broke after fifteen minutes a few days ago. She cries a lot. But mostly, she smiles until she can’t.

Walking becomes easier but she makes sure to be as good without the cane as she is with it. It's difficult and it takes time but she wants a sword named Ringo. It's difficult and it takes time until she remembers her threads (orange-murderer-magic) and decides they might be useful. It's difficult and it takes time because she remembers the bones and blood and death on them and how it stuck for days. It's difficult and it takes time but they're like eyes who can see everything she can't.

At night, she dreams about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf and the wolf who is like a limb. She dreams about a tree overrun by moss and a sword without a name. She dreams about a woman with a soft smile and calloused hands who is so kind she tells an orphan girl to run, run away before— and she never remembers how it ends. She dreams about silver threads and spellbooks and institutes and child-soldiers. She dreams about green .

They leave this town and the next, and she's got a book under an arm and a cane in her hand. She asks Ringo Nasar for more books about magic and his threads are not very happy but he asks when's your birthday? and she gets a book about bloodlines. She asks Ringo Nasar when's your birthday? and when he says I'm not sure she decides to give him one like Miss Cyn had for her. She realizes she doesn't know what to get him because Ringo Nasar does not like many things but Little Death and Bendis. But he gets a knife she found under a mattress and a stolen book about pirates. He gets hugs and kisses on the face and his laugh is so loud it echoes in her heart.

They lull themselves to sleep with whispered stories of a girl and her sword. She tells him how the sword saves the girl every single time and he tells her how the girl saves herself. He tells her how the girl becomes sword in the end and she tells him how the sword becomes him.

The fire crackles at the night and her threads reach out. Tentative. Hesitant. They reach out. And there's no violence in the way orange wraps around silver. And there's no wrath where it weaves its way up, up, up. But Nasar stiffens and she thinks she might have done something wrong even if she didn't mean— But then his threads answer. They answer. They— she doesn’t know how he's doing it, if he's doing it, but his threads intertwine with hers and she thinks. She thinks she might be feeling his soul.

It feels like his threads and his sword and his leg. It feels like rainy days in shitty inn rooms and cold nights in the woods. It feels like it's known too many ends and not nearly enough beginnings. It feels like both the wielder and the weapon and how sometimes they're the same. But it feels like cocoons and laughter and comfort. It feels like all the pieces that make Ringo Nasar and more.

“You feel like the sea,” he says quietly. And she thinks she understands.

She wakes with the sun and notices a new thread. It’s a little odd looking but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind because it starts in her chest and ends in his. And it feels like chosen birthdays and hushed voices.

#dori writes #oc: bendis #oc: nasar #oc: valko #where stories go to die

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aweebwrites · 5 years

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Garmadad (Side-Effect AU)

“Kai, where are you going?” Sensei Garmadon asked from where he was meditating in the training room, eyes closed still.

“I thought I'd drop by Jay's folks and mess around.” Kai says, heading towards the exit still.

“Alright. Don't forget your Desert Crawler is still under maintenance. You might have to borrow one of the others’ vehicles.” He reminded.

“No. The junkyard isn't that far out. I'll walk.” Kai decided after a moment of thought.

“Alright then. Safe travels. Have Mrs. Walker give us a call if you don't feel up to walking back.” Sensei Garmadon says, opening his eyes to look at him.

“Ok. Later.” Kai says with a wave over his shoulder as he left.

Sensei Garmadon breathed out slowly as he relaxed again. It was rare for things to be quiet around here. Jay and Lloyd crashed earlier after a particularly intense conversation about who knows what and were soundly asleep. He carried them both to theor rooms but noticed Jay was lighter than usual so he notified his brother. They had to keep tabs on things like that with the ninja. It's usually something innocent like forgetting a few meals while you mind was running 100 miles ahead if you but it could turn into something much worse such as an eating disorder if left unchecked.

Not only was he their second Sensei, but he was also a councillor. Certified and everything. He had to be. An outsider would be at serious risks. Talks with the ninja don't always run smoothly after all. In fact, more than half the time some kind of incident happens. But he didn't mind. The burden of holding an element is something he wouldn't wish on anyone and if he can help these kids by doing something like being their councillor, then best believe he will be the very best he could be. Besides, they're just as much his children as Lloyd is.

“Hey Sensei G, got a moment?” Cole asked as he came down the stairs.

“Always. How can I help?” He asked, watching him approach.

“Well… I've been… I wanted to… But…” Cole got out forcefully, the words looking painful to even think.

Garmadon nodded.

“So you think you've been more snappish at the others than normal and you'd like to have something done to make it up to them, correct?” He questioned, fluid in speaking Cole by now.

“No! What do I care about those jerks!” Cole huffed, looking away frustration in his eyes.

“Let me put it this way then. You and the others don't get along right?” He questioned and Cole nodded. “And while you don't get along with them or particularly care, you certainly don't want anything bad to happen to them, right?”

“'Course not.” Cole says with a frown.

“Then in that case, how about I help you do or make something for them that shows that?” Garmadon suggested and Cole lit up.

“Yeah! I was thinking of something outdoorsy since we spend wayyy too much time inside but like something active for Lloyd and Jay but not too active since…” Garmadon only smiled as Cole went off on ideas, able to speak freely- if just for a few moments.

He was able to find loopholes like this sometimes. It always brings warmth to his heart to see them free of burden if just for a few moments.

__________________

“Nya, we talked about using your water in certain places. Have you forgotten?” Garmadon asked, watching her float several orbs of water over her head from where she lay on the ground in the living space.

“I thought here was ok?” Nya says, looking across at him, the orbs faltering.

“Ah-ah! Keep your focus. Don't spill a single drop.” Garmadon says sternly, hands on his hips, watching her catch them. “Now put them away.” He instructed and she floated them into one of the close by potted kentia palm plant they keep around for situations like this.

“Good girl.” He nodded at her then knelt and ruffled her hair. “I have to be stern Nya. I'm only looking out for you. You were playing around with your water next to that electrical plug, a very dangerous combination. I bet you didn't notice that, did you?” He says, gesturing to it next to her head.

“Oh. When did that get there?” She says, looking at it and Garmadon chuckled.

“Try to be more vigilant next time.” He advised them moved to stand. “... Nya, would you be a darling and help me stand up?”

_________________

“Oh. Lloyd. Up already?” Garmadon questioned, seeing him step out of his room as he headed to his.

“Yeah. You know me. Gotta keep going.” He says with failed humour, looking exhausted still.

Garmadon frowned, already making it his mission for the day to make sure he gets round two of sleep. He knew however, it wouldn't be right now. Once he's awake, it'll take at least an hour for him to have a slight possibility of falling back to sleep. He already has a plan in mind...

“Alright. Try not to push yourself too hard.” He says, pulling him into a hug and Lloyd smiled into his father's shoulder, hugging back.

Dad hugs were the only things he would stand still for.

“I won't.” He murmured then smirked. “Still not used to two armed hugs.” He added and grinned once his father chuckled deep.

“Well, sometimes I forget I only have two now.” Garmadon admits, amused as he pulled back to look at his son.

“Is that why that ugly mug mom gave you broke the same day you got it?” He asked with a knowing smirk.

“That was an unfortunate accident. Completely coincidental.” Garmadon denied, a smile tugging the corners of his lips and Lloyd laughed.

“Whatever you say dad, whatever you say.”

______________

“Zane?” Garmadon queried, stepping into his room then wanting to step back out with how hot it was. “Did you take the heater from the supply room again? You are prone to overheating you know, even if you can't feel it over the cold.” He says gently, walking over and turning it down to slightly above room temperature.

“It was-s-s-s f-f-f-f-fine.” Zane says from under three comforters.

“It certainly is not if it's messing with your audio output like that.” Garmadon worried, turning the heater off completely now. “You need to cool down before you'll be in need of another repair that could have been prevented. Come sit outside for a while.” He says, only seeing glowing blue eyes from under the heavy blankets.

“Fine.” Zane sighed, knowing better than to argue with him.

When he got into mom mode, there's no escape.

“Only one blanket.” Garmadon says, noticing him attempting to bring all three.

“But-”

“I know you feel cold Zane but the reality of the situation is that the feeling is purely mental. Your body is overheating and it doesn't do do easily. That's saying a lot. Excess heat like that could really hurt you Zane and when one of us ends up hurt, all of us are.” Garmadon says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We're all searching for a way to at least make you feel less cold and we won't stop until we find s way. So until then, we just want you to take care of yourself, ok?” He asked gently and Zane nods once, feeling guilty now.

“Good. And while you cool down, why don't we talk for a little.” Garmadon says, leading him outside with only one blanket around his person.

_______________

“I smell pizza!” Jay yelled, popping up shortly after Zane returned to his room. “Or at least I hope it is and that it's a pile on pizza with every toppings on it with extra cheese of course and not to mention-”

“Stuffed crust?” Garmadon says, opening the box with his atrocious taste in pizza inside.

Jay beamed and rushed over, taking a slice.

“Yum!” Jay hummed after taking a bite.

“Eat up while you can because I'm cooking tonight and you're going to eat your vegetables- and the ones on the pizza don't count.” Garmadon warned and Jay whined. “No whining or buts. This isn't up for debate. You've lost weight and I intend to our it back on you.” He says and Jay thought back.

“Oh yeah! I was working on a project or two I couldn't really pick which idea I wanted to do doesn't so I did them all at once but it didn't work out since the time it takes to work on them unlike the few minutes it takes to take care of Zane since the longer the project,the harder it is to keep focused but-”

“That's all very interesting Jay but I'd like to see you eating as well as talking.” Garmadon says with a dond smile and the freckled brunette nodded, taking another bite out of his pizza.

“Did I tell you about the time…”

________________

“You should reconsider that teashop.” Garmadon says, watching his brother bustle about, adding ingredients to three separate teapots.

“I haven't completely turned down the idea.” Wu says over his shoulder then poured hot water into all three and left the tea to seep. “Right now, I have more important matters to attend to.”

“If anyone can find a cure, I know it'll be Mistaké.” Garmadon says, closing his eyes as he turned away, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“So much faith you have in me brother. It's humbling.” Wu says drily and Garmadon laughs.

“Well, to be fair, she's been at this for longer than you have.” He says to his brother, looking over thr large collection of tea ingredients he had stocked up in his tea room.

“That may be so but her tea skills are chaotic at best. I'd like to think my skills are more refined than hers.” Wu says, grabbing two cups.

“Don't let her hear you say that.” Garmadon huffed amused as Wu fixed them both some tea.

“I'm no fool brother.” Wu chuckled, handing him a cup.

They both drank in comfortable silence for a while.

“I have missed you dearly brother.” He spoke softly and Garmadon smiled at his younger brother.

“And I, you. But the past is the past.”

“And the future is the future.”

_________________

Garmadon hadn't realised that he hadn't popped a single bubble all day until it was too late. He had noticed a controller left on the ground, most likely left by Jay since it was his shade of blue, and had picked it up- only for his powers to flare up and turn the controller into black ash. He gasped, staring down at the remains of the controller in his hand.

“You ok Sensei G?” Garmadon looked across at Kai as he came up the stairs, back from his trip.

“... Yes. Although I'll need to get Jay a new controller.” He sighed, walking over to the closest bin.

“What about me?” Jay asked, walking in then with Zane behind him.

“It appears Sensei Garmadon destroyed your controller on accident.” Zane says, noticing the ash in his hand he dumped.

“Yes. I somehow forgot to take to my bubble wrap.” Garmadon says, dusting his hand off.

“I realised too late.” Lloyd says, walking downstairs with a roll, Cole with him.

“You gotta take care of you too Sensei G.” Nya says, coming upstairs with Sensei Wu.

“Yeah. Don't forget about yourself. You're always so busy looking out for us…” Kai says with a small smile.

“It's our turn to look after you.” Cole says with a grin and Garmadon looked at them all before smiling.

“Well, if you insist…”

____________________

Later on, Garmadon found himself seated with tea and a side of creamy biscuits before him on the coffee table, bubble wrap in hand, his son on his right, his brother on his left and the ninja all seated as close as they could get, talking amongst each other and eating dinner Zane cooked. He hasn't felt so content in a long time. Or ever if he was being honest with himself. He considered himself a lucky man to have such a loving family.

_______________

(*slams fists on table* I live for Garmadad ok. I literally cannot express enough joy and thanks to my brain for spitting this out. I know it's my own fic but this gets all of my UwUs ok. No in depth author's note here. Enjoy the familial bonds and Garmadad!)

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