Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
No title available
No title available
taylor price
No title available
todays bird
h
$LAYYYTER
No title available
Product Placement
ellievsbear
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
pixel skylines
JBB: An Artblog!
NASA
Love Begins
oozey mess
cherry valley forever
we're not kids anymore.
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Estonia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Sweden
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Belgium
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
@xynczachrome
‼️𝕎𝔼'ℝ𝔼 𝔹𝔸ℂ𝕂 𝕀ℕ 𝔹𝕌𝕊𝕀ℕ𝔼𝕊𝕊 ‼️
Commissioned by Shima on Discord!
Reanimating that Jaya Kiss scene ✨
let's pretend there's a badass quote here
DONEEEE FINALLYYYYY (started this back in early april ig)
absolutely loved drawing this and this is certainly gonna become a merch someday, a mutual gave me an idea to turn this into a keychain and im obsessed
anyway hope yall like it!! this is mostly a small twist in those eye charts which are usually the characters staring at the camera but i find it uncanny to draw so i made it more epic hehe
Lloyd with the Sensei Garmadon fit oh how i miss it
𝔜𝔦𝔫-𝔜𝔞𝔫𝔤, 𝔒𝔫𝔦-𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔴𝔬 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔑𝔦𝔫𝔧𝔞
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱☯︎⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
I've been thinking about doing this one in a long while but was having issues with locking in
I kept thinking like wouldn't it be cool if the dark Lloyd was actually Oni Lloyd instead of just an emo version of himself? Like it would make sense that he would actually feel ashamed of that side because he didn't want to be like his dad (plus the whole angst scene with how he was rejecting his Oni side in Crystallized)
Tbh they should've explored the balance in his nature more like it must be really confusing for him with having both Oni and Dragon genes in him
Okok that's enough yapping for now, hope you guys like it 🫶
got my discord back 🎉✨
[💚🐉GREENDRAGON AU‼️]
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
An AU where Newt and Lloyd met as kids in Ninjago Main Island instead of the Island of Dragons 🐉
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
AU Fun Facts 💖
• Newt grew up at Jamanakai Village with Salamander (his older brother). No one at the village know they're from the Island of Dragons.
• Salamander had to provide for them so he's usually working but he tried to make up some time for his little brother.
• Newt doesn't hide his Flame-Sight as much as OG Newt since he didn't grew up with the pressure of the Elders.
• In this AU, he's more mischievous because he grew up with the village kids. He doesn't feel as isolated as in OG.
• Newt and Lloyd were both 9 when they first met.
• Newt got hit with Tomorrow's Tea along with Lloyd.
• Although, Salamander is a tired, worrywart, overprotective older brother like OG, he lets Newt explore since he trusts Newt's instinct more than anything. (Plus they weren't bothered by the elders like in OG)
Lava ❤️🖤
The Warden, The Monster and their lil Spawn ♥️
[Garmadon & Lloyd]
𓆩༻˚•∘♡∘•˚༺𓆪
Basically everything's the same but they got tails
This was actually an old comic I made a while back but redrew Garmmy in my TW&TM design teehee
I just needed some father-son fluff after writing sm angst with these two ♥
Hope you like it!
Love Like You - Garfieldshipping AU
---.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ˖ ݁ 𖥔.---
“If you asked it of me,” he continued, his voice gravelly. “If you looked at me and told me to spare a life, to stay my hand, to offer mercy instead of ruin… I would do it. Not because it is in my nature. But because it is in yours. And your nature is the only law I recognize.”
He brought a hand up, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“The urge is always there. The chaos. The fury. It sings to me, Althea. It’s a song of breaking and burning. But your voice…” He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “Your voice is quieter. It doesn’t roar. It just… is. And it drowns out the rest.”
He closed his eyes, a faint tremor running through him.
“For you, I would hold back the storm. I would leash the monster. Not in a cage of energy but in a cage of my own will. Because the thought of your disappointment… the thought of seeing that light in your eyes dim because of me…”
He shook his head, the motion small. “That is a torment I could not endure.”
- The Warden and the Monster (Chapter 10)
---.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ˖ ݁ 𖥔.---
Teehee, decided to give a bit of a scene teaser for my Garfieldshipping AU
I'll probably start posting it once I'm done posting 6YoS on AO3 (which btw I already posted the first chapter there 🫶)
Hope you like it!!
A Bite of Apple 🍎
Crystallized Lloyd was def going through something
Six Years of Sunlight (OC x Garmadon)
Chapter 15: The Farewell of The Mother
---
The heat of the late afternoon was thick and heavy.
With Lloyd sleeping soundly under Misako’s watchful eye, Althea had stolen a rare moment for herself.
A small, crystal-clear lake, fed by a mountain stream, lay a short, safe distance from the cabin, hidden by a ring of weeping willows.
It was her secret sanctuary within their sanctuary.
The water was cool and silken against her skin, a blissful relief.
She submerged herself, washing away the sweat and dust of their confined life, the weight of the Fragment left safely bundled on the shore.
For a few precious minutes, she was just a woman, not a Warden, feeling the sun dappling through the leaves on her bare shoulders.
Garmadon had been patrolling, his mind a map of potential threats and escape routes.
His path, out of habit and an unerring internal compass that always pointed toward her, took him near the lake.
He moved silently, a shadow among the trees, his senses alert.
He pushed aside a curtain of willow branches, his crimson eyes scanning the clearing for any sign of danger.
And then he stopped.
Every thought of patrols, disciples and strategy evaporated from his mind.
Althea was standing in the waist-deep water, her back to him, wringing out her long, woody-brown hair.
The setting sun cast a golden halo around her, catching the droplets on her smooth, brown skin like scattered jewels.
She was all graceful lines and quiet strength, a vision of such profound and unguarded beauty that it struck him with the force of a physical blow.
He made a sound; a faint, choked intake of breath.
Althea heard it.
She turned, not with a startle but with a slow, fluid motion.
Water sluiced from her shoulders.
Her pastel green eyes found his and instead of alarm, they crinkled with amusement.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she took in his utterly frozen posture, his wide eyes and the faint, tell-tale flush creeping up his neck.
"See something you like?" she asked, her voice a low, playful murmur that carried across the still water.
Garmadon, the Master of Spinjitzu, the warrior who had faced down legions without a flicker of fear, felt his entire face grow hot.
He was utterly flustered, his usual intensity replaced by a speechless, adoring awkwardness.
His gaze dropped for a second before snapping back to her face, as if he couldn't bear to look away but felt he was trespassing on something sacred.
"I... I was... patrolling," he managed to stammer, the explanation sounding utterly feeble.
"Mmhmm," she hummed, clearly enjoying his discomfiture.
She took a few steps closer to the shore, the water rippling around her. "And does your patrol usually involve staring or am I just special?"
"You are always special," he breathed, the words escaping him with a raw honesty that bypassed his usual gruffness.
He finally found his footing, not in strategy but in the truth she always pulled from him. "You are... you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
The playful teasing in her eyes softened into something warmer, deeper.
She reached the shore and stood before him, not bothering to cover herself, utterly comfortable in his gaze. "Good answer."
He closed the distance between them, his movements slow, deliberate.
He reached out, his calloused hand, usually so sure and violent, trembling slightly as he brushed a stray, wet strand of hair from her cheek.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw.
"My Althea," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
She leaned into his touch, her skin cool from the water against the heat of his hand.
"Yours," she confirmed softly. "Always."
He bent his head and kissed her, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of lake water and sunlight and a love that felt as endless as the sky above them.
It was a kiss that held no urgency, no fear of the future, only the profound, peaceful joy of the present.
When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.
"We should get back," he murmured, not moving an inch. "Lloyd will be waking soon."
"In a minute," she whispered, her hands resting on his chest. "For now, just stand here with me."
And so he did.
The warrior and the Warden, standing together in the dappled light of the clearing, the world and its dangers held at bay by the simple, unshakeable truth of their love.
For a few stolen minutes, there were no fragments, no disciples, no prophecies.
There was only the cool water on skin, the warmth of the sun, and the quiet, flustered, wonderful beating of two hearts in perfect sync.
—
The cabin was quiet, bathed in the soft, orange glow of the setting sun.
From the woods outside, the distant, familiar sounds of the world had faded, replaced by a comfortable silence.
Althea and Garmadon had slipped away earlier, a rare, wordless agreement passing between them for a moment of solitude.
The door had closed and Misako was left in the warm, dim stillness with a wide-awake Lloyd.
He was in her arms, having just been fed and changed, his bright green eyes alert and curious.
He wasn't fussing, simply observing the world from the safety of her embrace, his tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb.
"They needed a moment," Misako whispered to him, her voice a soft, rhythmic cadence quite different from her usual scholarly tone. She began to slowly pace the small room. "It is a very great thing, to love someone the way they love each other. It is a heavy, wonderful weight."
Lloyd gurgled, his eyes tracking the movement of a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam.
"It can be… overwhelming," she continued, as if confiding in him. "Like trying to hold the ocean in your hands. Sometimes, you need to step back and just look at the shore."
She adjusted him, cradling him so he could see her face.
"Your father, you see… he is like the storm. For so long, he was a storm with no eye, just chaos and thunder. But your mother?" Misako smiled, a genuine, warm expression. "She is his eye. The still, calm center where everything is clear and peaceful. When he looks at her, the winds die down. He becomes… not less but more. More focused. More real."
Lloyd cooed, as if in agreement.
"And your mother," Misako went on, her pace slow and steady, "she has been a fortress her whole life. Walls up, shields raised, always on guard. But for him… for him, she lowers the drawbridge. She lets the storm in, and instead of destroying her, it makes her stronger. It waters the gardens inside the walls."
She stopped by the window, looking out toward the woods where the couple had disappeared.
"They think they are hiding from the world in here. But in many ways, the world has never been able to reach them, not truly. They have always been in their own universe, a universe of two. And now," she looked down at Lloyd, her voice dropping to a whisper, "now it's a universe of three."
Lloyd's eyes were beginning to droop, lulled by the sound of her voice and the gentle motion.
"It is a love I study," she admitted, a slight, wry smile on her lips. "As a historian. It is not documented in any scroll. It is messy, and fierce, and utterly illogical. And it is the most powerful force I have ever witnessed."
She hummed a soft, wordless tune, a lullaby from some forgotten text she'd read long ago.
Lloyd's eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing evening out into the soft, rhythmic puffs of sleep.
"They will do anything for you," she murmured, her promise a solemn vow in the quiet room. "They will move mountains and defy destiny. And I… I will make sure their story has a chance to be told."
She stood there for a long time, holding the sleeping child, the guardian of a secret and a love so vast it had transformed a storm and a fortress into a mother and a father.
And in that quiet duty, Misako found a purpose that went far beyond ink and parchment.
She was chronicling a living, breathing legend, and protecting it with everything she had.
—
Four years.
Four years of stolen sunsets, of lopsided wooden toys, of Garmadon’s increasingly proficient porridge.
Four years of watching a shock of blonde hair and bright green eyes learn to walk, to talk, to summon a tiny, shimmering flicker of a forcefield when he laughed too hard.
Four years of a peace so fragile and beautiful it felt like holding a soap bubble in the palm of her hand.
And now, the bubble was about to pop.
The sightings had started again, first as whispers in distant villages, then as symbols carved on trees closer to their valley.
Finally, just yesterday, Garmadon had returned from a patrol with a grim set to his jaw and a new, fresh scratch on his vambrace.
He didn't need to say anything.
The Disciples were closing in.
Their sanctuary was compromised.
This morning, Garmadon had left for the Monastery.
A routine visit, he’d called it, to maintain their cover with Wu.
But his embrace had been longer, his kiss more desperate.
He had held Lloyd so tightly the five-year-old had squirmed in protest. He knew, on some level, that the winds were shifting.
The moment he was gone, the atmosphere in the cabin changed.
The warmth seemed to leach out of the walls, replaced by a cold, grim purpose.
Althea moved with a methodical efficiency that belied the earthquake raging inside her.
She did not pack much.
A change of clothes. A water skin. The small, now-dried and pressed sunset rose, carefully wrapped in cloth. And the Fragment, its hum a mocking counterpoint to the breaking of her heart.
Then, she sat at the rough-hewn table and took out a piece of parchment.
The quill felt like a lead weight in her hand.
My Garmadon, If you are reading this, then I am gone. Do not think of it as an abandonment. See it as the final, outermost shield I can raise around our son. The Disciples hunt the Warden and the Fragment. As long as we are near Lloyd, we are a beacon leading them straight to his heart. I am taking their prize and leading them on a chase that will take them to the ends of the earth. You must let me go. You must. For him. Misako will be his mother now. She will be Misako, mother of Lloyd and you must be the father who visits. It is the only story that will keep him safe. You must make the world believe it. You must make Wu believe it. You must, even in the quietest moments of your own heart, let this new truth take root. Our love must become a ghost, a story you once heard, so that our son can live a real life. Love him for both of us. Teach him to be strong, but also to be kind. Tell him… tell him that his mother loved him more than all the stars in the sky. That every forcefield she ever made was just practice for the one she built around his life today. I will love you until the last silence claims me. Always, Your Althea
She did not let herself cry. The tears would come later, in the cold solitude of the wilderness. Now, she had to be the Warden one last time.
She walked to the small cot where Lloyd slept, his features soft and peaceful in the moonlight, so trustingly unaware.
She knelt, her breath catching as she memorized the curve of his cheek, the sweep of his lashes, the way his small hand lay open and relaxed.
She leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, inhaling the sweet, innocent scent of him for the final time.
"I am so sorry, my little love," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Be good for your father. Be brave."
A single tear escaped then, tracing a hot path down her cheek and landing on his. He stirred, murmuring in his sleep, but did not wake. It was a small mercy that felt like a dagger.
As she stood, wiping her face, she found Misako watching her from the doorway, her expression a complex map of sorrow and resolve.
"Are you certain?" Misako asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question was not a challenge, but a final, solemn check. A chance to turn back from the precipice.
Althea’s gaze was clear, though her eyes were swimming. "There is no other way. This is the final shield." She gestured to the letter on the table. "When he returns… he will be…"
"He will be a storm without an eye," Misako finished softly. "I will be here. I will anchor him. For Lloyd."
Althea nodded, a world of gratitude passing between them in that single look.
She shouldered her small pack, the weight of the Fragment a familiar, hated burden.
She took one last, long look at her sleeping son, branding the image onto her soul.
Then, without another word, she slipped out of the cabin and into the darkness, a solitary figure merging with the shadows, her love for her family a beacon that would now lead their enemies far, far away from the one thing that truly mattered.
The sanctuary was empty. The plan was in motion. The long, lonely vigil had begun.
—
The walk back to the cabin had been filled with a low, simmering irritation.
Wu’s probing questions had been more persistent than usual, his brother’s wise eyes seeing too much. Garmadon’s mind had been already reaching ahead, past the trees, to the warm light of the cabin, to Althea’s smile, to the weight of his son in his arms. It was the only thought that ever truly quieted the whispers of the venom.
But as he pushed open the door, the silence hit him like a physical blow.
The fire was low. The cabin was tidy, too tidy. The usual small clutter of Lloyd’s toys was gone. The air didn’t smell of herbs or porridge or her. It smelled of dust and emptiness.
His eyes scanned the room, his heart beginning a frantic, hammering rhythm against his ribs. Misako stood by the hearth, her posture stiff, her face a mask of prepared sorrow. But Althea was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is she?" His voice was low, a dangerous growl.
Misako simply looked at him, her eyes full of a pity that made his blood run cold. She gestured silently to the table.
There, propped against a water jug, was a folded piece of parchment. His name was on it, written in her elegant, familiar hand.
He crossed the room in two strides, snatching the letter. His eyes devoured the words, each one a shard of ice plunging into his heart.
…the final, outermost shield… …you must let me go… …Misako will be his mother now… …our love must become a ghost…
The paper crumpled in his fist.
A roar of pure, unadulterated agony tore from his throat, a sound of such profound loss that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the cabin.
The air around him crackled, dark energy flaring uncontrollably. He slammed his fist onto the table, splintering the wood.
"NO!"
He whirled on Misako, his crimson eyes blazing with fury and betrayal.
"You knew! You let her go!?" The accusation was a whip-crack.
Before Misako could answer, a small, frightened voice came from the doorway to the sleeping area.
"Papa?"
Garmadon froze. The dark energy snuffed out as if doused by water.
There stood Lloyd, five years old, rubbing sleep from his bright green eyes.
He was clutching the worn, purple blanket Garmadon had given him as a baby. His small face was creased with confusion and fear at the noise, at the sight of his father’s terrifying anger.
The sight was a guillotine on Garmadon’s rage.
The formidable Master of Spinjitzu, the man who had just been ready to tear the world apart with his bare hands, shattered.
The fury evaporated, leaving behind a void of such immense, crushing despair that his legs buckled.
He fell to his knees.
A broken, ragged sob wrenched itself from the depths of his soul. He opened his arms.
Lloyd, sensing his father’s profound distress, didn't hesitate. He ran forward, his small feet pattering on the wooden floor and threw himself into Garmadon’s embrace.
Garmadon crushed his son to his chest, his entire body shaking with the force of his weeping.
He buried his face in Lloyd’s soft blonde hair, inhaling the scent of him, the last living piece of Althea he had left.
He held him like a lifeline in a stormy sea, the only solid thing in a world that had just collapsed into ash.
"I'm sorry, son.." he choked out, his voice thick and broken. "Papa is so sorry, Lloyd."
He wasn't just apologizing for the outburst. He was apologizing for a future without her.
For the lies they would now have to live.
For the mother his son would have to forget.
Misako watched, her own composure finally breaking as silent tears streamed down her face. She did not interfere.
This was a pain that had to be endured.
Garmadon rocked his son, holding him long after the sobs had subsided into shuddering breaths. The crumpled letter lay on the floor, its words a sentence he would have to serve for the rest of his life.
Althea was gone. She had sacrificed herself to become their final shield.
And as he held his son, the last piece of their shared heart, he made a new vow, one forged in grief and sealed in tears. He would play his part. He would be the visiting father. He would let their love become a ghost.
For him.
For Lloyd. Their son.
But in the deepest, most secret part of his soul, where the storm still raged, he knew the truth. He would never stop looking for her.
The world could burn for all he cared, but he would find his way back to her or die trying.
The path to the Monastery, once a route of reluctant duty, now felt like a march to the gallows.
Every step away from the cabin, from the last place that had held Althea’s warmth, was a fresh agony.
The trees themselves seemed to whisper her name, mocking him with their enduring presence.
Garmadon walked like a man already in chains. His shoulders, usually set with pride and power, were slumped. His crimson eyes, which typically scanned the horizon with sharp intensity, were fixed on the ground, seeing nothing but the ghost of a life he could no longer have.
Lloyd, his small hand swallowed by his father’s, kept looking back over his shoulder. “Papa? Where’s Mama?” he asked, his voice small and confused for what felt like the hundredth time. “Is she coming later?”
Each question was a knife twist. Garmadon’s grip tightened, not in anger, but in a desperate need for anchorage.
“She… had to go on a trip, Lloyd,” Garmadon managed, the lie ash in his mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his son. “A very long trip.”
“But why didn’t she say goodbye?” Lloyd’s lower lip trembled. “She always kisses me goodbye.”
A wave of nausea, unrelated to the serpentine venom, washed over Garmadon.
He could imagine the scene. Althea’s final, tear-stained kiss on their sleeping son’s forehead. The goodbye he had been denied.
She left you, the venom hissed, seizing on his anguish, its voice clearer and more seductive than it had been in years. She chose a relic over her own family. She was weak. You are better off. Embrace the anger. Let it fuel you. Let it make you strong.
He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
The darkness within him stirred, eager and hungry, wanting to consume the grief and transform it into rage.
He could feel it coiling in his veins, a welcome heat against the cold void of his loss.
It would be so easy to let it take over, to become the monster everyone expected him to be.
Then, he felt the small, trusting pressure of Lloyd’s hand in his.
He glanced down.
Lloyd was looking up at him, his bright green eyes (her eyes) filled with a confusion that was slowly morphing into fear.
Fear of his father’s silence, of his strange, heavy sadness, of the strange, dark energy that seemed to be leaking from him.
The sight was a bucket of cold water.
He could not fall. Not here. Not now.
With a shuddering breath that was more of a gasp, he forced the darkness back. He pushed the venom’s whispers into a locked box in the back of his mind, though he could still feel them rattling the lid.
He squeezed Lloyd’s hand gently.
“She loves you more than anything,” Garmadon said, his voice rough but softer now. It was the only truth he could safely offer. “Never forget that.”
He looked ahead, where Misako walked a few paces in front of them, giving them the illusion of privacy.
Her back was straight, her resolve a silent pillar.
She was playing her part already, the distant guardian, not the comforting mother. It was a necessary cruelty and it cut him deeply.
This was their new reality.
A haunted father, clinging to his sanity by a thread for the sake of his son.
A confused child, missing a mother who had vanished into the night.
And a scholar, bearing the weight of a secret that would define all their lives.
As the towering peaks of the Monastery came into view, Garmadon felt a profound dread.
He was not returning as a brother, or even a fallen master.
He was returning as a ghost himself, a man whose heart had been torn out and left behind in a dusty cabin.
He would have to face Wu, and spin a story of abandonment, to paint Althea as a memory rather than a martyr.
He looked at Lloyd, who had fallen into a weary silence and then back towards the wilderness where his love had disappeared.
The war was now inside him, a battle between the consuming darkness of his grief and the fragile, desperate light of his love for his son.
And as he took the final steps toward his brother’s gate, he knew the outcome was far from certain.
—
Wu felt his brother’s approach long before the gates were in sight. He stiffened.
It was not the calm, centered presence of recent visits, nor was it the chaotic storm of earlier years.
This was something new, something… shattered. Like a ghost returning to its previous haunt.
A powerful energy, fractured and held together by sheer, desperate will.
When the small party emerged from the treeline, Wu’s breath caught in his throat.
There was Garmadon, his face a mask of grim stone, but his eyes… his eyes were tombs.
And with him was a woman, intelligent-looking, composed, her posture that of a scholar, not a warrior.
And between them, holding Garmadon’s hand, was a child.
A child.
The pieces of the last few years (the peace, the contentment, the mysterious absences) slammed together in Wu’s mind with the force of a thunderclap.
This was the source.
This was the transformation.
Garmadon had not just found a hiding place, he had found a family.
But as they drew closer, Wu’s sharp eyes, trained by centuries of observation, saw the cracks in the picture.
He saw the way Garmadon’s grip on the boy’s hand was not just protective but desperate, as if the child was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
He saw the profound, soul-deep exhaustion that clung to his brother, a weight that had nothing to do with physical travel.
His gaze shifted to the woman.
She was not looking at the child with a mother’s softness. Her care was evident but it was the careful, respectful care of a guardian.
There was a deliberate space between her and Garmadon, a chasm of unspoken history.
They were not a unit bound by love, but allies bound by a shared, terrible burden of a secret.
And then there was the boy.
He had his father’s determined brow but his eyes… they were a bright lively green that Wu had never seen before.
And in those eyes was a confusion that broke Wu’s heart.
The boy kept looking up at his father, searching the stony face for answers, then back at the woman, as if hoping her role would change.
Wu knew he was looking for someone who wasn't there.
“Brother,” Garmadon’s voice was hollow, scraped raw. “This is Lloyd. My son.”
The possessiveness in the word ‘my’ was fierce, absolute. “And this is Misako. His… mother.”
The hesitation was minuscule but to Wu, it was as loud as a scream.
He looked from Garmadon’s tormented face to Misako’s solemn one and he knew.
This woman was not the boy’s mother.
She was a shield.
A cover.
A part of the story.
The real mother (whoever it may be, the one who had brought his brother peace and light) was gone.
The how and the why were a mystery but the result was written in the agony on Garmadon’s face and the lost look in the child’s.
This was not a happy homecoming.
This was a retreat. A surrender.
“Welcome,” Wu said, his voice softer than he intended, his wisdom telling him to ask no questions. He knelt, bringing himself to the child’s level. “Hello, Lloyd.”
Lloyd shrank back slightly, pressing against his father’s leg.
Garmadon’s hand came to rest on Lloyd’s head, a gesture of such profound, bittersweet love that Wu felt his own eyes sting.
This was the love that had changed his brother.
And this was the loss that was now destroying him.
As Wu led them inside, his mind raced.
The happiness, the peace, the clarity, it had all been real.
Garmadon had built a life away from the Monastery, a life with a woman he loved and a child they had created.
And now, that life was in ruins.
The woman was turned into a ghost and Garmadon was returning to his old prison, not as a reformed man, but as a ghost himself, bringing with him the living, breathing proof of a happiness he could no longer have.
The brother Wu had tried so hard to save had finally saved himself, only to have his heart broken in a way the venom never could.
And as Wu watched Garmadon look down at his son, his expression a devastating mix of love and despair, Wu understood a terrible truth: his brother’s greatest battle was no longer against the darkness within but against the overwhelming grief without.
And for that, Wu had no scroll, no teaching, no wisdom to offer.
---
AND SCENE
Fun fact, this is the longest chapter out of all 6yos and I had to cut some scenes to turn them into one shots instead
Thank you so much for reading this silly fic I decided to write about what was supposed to be a random crackship (garfieldshipping started with minecraft cats lmao)
As always, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!
Chapter 14 || Main Information || Fin
Six Years of Sunlight (OC X Garmadon)
Chapter 14: The Choice of the Ruse
---
The first few days after Lloyd’s birth were a hazy tapestry of pain, overwhelming love and a fatigue so deep it felt like drowning.
Althea’s body, which had been a vessel for creation and a fortress against darkness, was now a hollowed-out ruin.
She could do little more than lie in the cot, her limbs heavy as stone while the world moved around her.
Garmadon and Misako became a seamless, efficient machine.
Garmadon, whose hands were made for wielding weapons, now moved with a shocking delicacy.
He was the one who brought Lloyd to her for feedings, supporting the baby’s head with a tenderness that made Althea’s heart ache.
He changed linens, his frame looking absurdly large in the small space, yet his movements were always careful, always quiet around her rest.
Misako was the strategist of domesticity.
She prepared broths and herbal teas to rebuild Althea’s strength, managed the supplies, and took the night watch so Garmadon could snatch a few hours of sleep with Althea and Lloyd curled against him.
She was the calm in the eye of their storm, her presence a silent vow that they were not alone.
Althea was grateful, profoundly so.
But in the quiet moments, when she was alone with her thoughts and the sleeping form of her son, a new enemy emerged from within her own weakened defenses.
It started as a faint, cold tickle at the base of her skull, a thought that felt like her own, yet wasn't.
You are weak. You could not even bring him into the world without nearly unleashing me.
Althea stiffened, her arms tightening around Lloyd. She looked around the quiet cabin.
Garmadon was outside, Misako was dozing in her chair.
It was just her and the baby.
And the Fragment.
He is so small. So fragile, the voice whispered, its tone slick and insidious. How can you protect him when you cannot even protect yourself? Your power is broken. It flickers like a dying candle.
She closed her eyes, trying to shut it out but the voice was inside her head, feeding on her postpartum vulnerability, her hormonal crash, her sheer physical depletion.
They will come for him, it crooned. The Disciples. They will take him from your weak, trembling arms. And what will you do? Summon a shield? You can barely lift your head.
A tear of frustration and fear traced down her temple.
The voice was voicing her deepest, most secret terrors.
It was taking the beautiful, normal anxieties of a new mother and twisting them into weapons.
One afternoon, as she nursed Lloyd, the whispers grew louder, more graphic, painting images of Disciple blades and her own helplessness.
A small, panicked sound escaped her.
Instantly, Garmadon was there.
He had been sharpening a blade by the door but his entire attention was always on her. He crossed the room in two strides and knelt by the cot, his crimson eyes searching her face.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and urgent. “Are you in pain?”
“The… the Fragment,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s… talking to me. In my mind. It knows I’m weak.”
A dark, understanding fury flashed in Garmadon’s eyes.
He didn’t dismiss her fears or tell her she was imagining it. He knew the nature of their enemy. He placed a hand on her arm, his touch a solid, grounding warmth against the cold fear.
“It lies,” he stated, his voice absolute. “It preys on doubt. It has no power here that you do not give it.”
His gaze shifted to Lloyd, who was nursing contentedly, blissfully unaware. “Look at him, Althea. Look at what you created. What you protected. Your strength is not measured in the forcefields you can conjure today. It is measured in him. In his life.”
His words were a shield. They didn’t silence the whispers but they gave her something to hold onto, a truth to counter the lies.
Later, when Misako brought her tea, Althea confessed her struggle.
“Postpartum vulnerability is not just physical,” Misako said, her tone scholarly yet kind, wise from the scrolls she read. “It is a crack in the psychic armor. The Fragment is an entity of corruption. It will naturally seek out such openings. You must be gentle with yourself. Your power will return. For now, let us be your shield.”
And they were.
Garmadon’s fierce, unwavering presence was a bulwark against the world.
Misako’s calm knowledge was a guide through the internal darkness.
And Lloyd… Lloyd was the reason.
Days turned into a week.
Althea’s strength began to slowly return.
With it, her conscious control over her power began to solidify.
One evening, as a particularly vicious whisper about her inadequacy as a mother started to form, she felt a familiar warmth in her chest.
Without a thought, a soft, golden light pulsed from her, not as a visible shield but as an internal, spiritual reinforcement.
The whisper cut off with a startled hiss.
She had done it. Not with brute force but with a resurgent will.
She looked at Lloyd, sleeping peacefully in the cradle Garmadon had carved and she knew.
The Fragment would always whisper. The darkness would always hunt them. But she was no longer just a Warden.
She was a mother.
And that, she realized as she felt her power humming back to life within her, was a source of strength the darkness could never comprehend.
—
The shift was as palpable as the changing of a season.
One morning, Althea woke not to the leaden weight of exhaustion but to a hum of energy in her veins that felt familiar and new all at once.
The deep, aching hollow in her core was filled, not just with returning strength but with a vibrancy that seemed to sing in harmony with the tiny life sleeping beside her.
She sat up without assistance, the movement fluid and sure.
She stretched and as she did, a cascade of golden light, effortless and brilliant, shimmered over her skin like a second dawn illuminating the cabin.
It wasn't a conscious summoning. It was simply her, fully restored, her element rejoicing in its wholeness.
Garmadon, who had been stirring the morning porridge, froze, the spoon halfway to the pot.
He watched her, his crimson eyes wide, not with alarm, but with awe. He had seen her power in battle, in desperation, in protection.
But he had never seen it like this: A serene, confident radiance that seemed to emanate from a soul at peace with its own might.
"You're back," he breathed, the words full of a reverence usually reserved for sacred things.
Althea smiled, a true, easy smile that reached her pastel green eyes, banishing the last of the shadows that had lingered there. "I am."
She rose and walked to the cradle.
Lloyd was awake, his bright green eyes open and curious.
He didn't cry at her approach, he cooed, a soft, gurgling sound of pure delight.
As she reached for him, a small, playful orb of golden light, no bigger than a cherry, popped into existence above his head and bobbed gently.
Lloyd's eyes crossed trying to follow it and he let out a tiny, joyful squeal.
Misako, entering from the outside with fresh water, stopped in her tracks, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her face. "It would seem your element has missed its mistress. And has developed a certain... fondness for the heir."
Althea lifted Lloyd into her arms.
He immediately snuggled into her neck, his small hand patting her skin.
The Unbidden Shield didn't manifest defensively.
Instead, a faint, golden warmth enveloped them both, a gentle, constant embrace that seemed to whisper of absolute safety and love.
Her power wasn't just back. It was deeper, more integrated, more alive than ever before.
Is this how her mother felt when she was born?
The next few days were a glimpse of the life they were fighting for. With Althea’s strength returned, the dynamic in the cabin transformed into a harmonious, joyful rhythm.
Garmadon, the once-restless storm, found a new kind of purpose in peace.
He would hold Lloyd for hours, his large, scarred hand supporting the baby's head as he showed him the light dancing through the window.
He spoke to him in a low, rumbling monologue, not of battle and darkness but of the mountain winds and the steadfastness of stone.
The sight of the feared Master of Spinjitzu making silly faces to elicit a gummy smile from his son was a transformation more profound than any Spinjitzu whirlwind.
Misako, ever the scholar, found her subject in Lloyd's boundless curiosity.
She would read to him from her scrolls, her dry, academic tone softening into a melodic cadence.
She documented his milestones not just as data but with a quiet, personal wonder.
She was no longer just an ally. She was an auntie, her sharp mind now dedicated to deciphering the mystery of what made him giggle.
And Althea.
Althea was the sun at the center of their small solar system.
Her forcefields now appeared in moments of pure joy.
A shimmering, iridescent bubble that encased Lloyd as he practiced kicking on a blanket, a golden platform that gently rocked his cradle when he was fussy.
Her power had become an extension of her motherhood, not just a weapon of war.
The Fragment’s hum was still there, a discordant note in the background but it was now utterly dwarfed by the symphony of light and life that filled the cabin.
One evening, as they sat together (Althea nursing Lloyd, Garmadon sharpening his blade with a contented focus, Misako mending a tiny tunic) a profound sense of wholeness settled over them.
"We cannot stay here forever," Misako said softly, her practical mind never fully at rest.
"We know," Althea replied, her gaze on Lloyd's contented face. "But for now, we can."
Garmadon looked at his family, his strange, beautiful, unbreakable triad.
The woman he loved, radiant with restored power.
The son who was their hope.
The scholar who was their steadfast friend.
"Let them come," he said, his voice quiet but impregnable. "We are no longer hiding. We are waiting. And we are stronger than they can possibly imagine."
In the warm, golden light of the cabin, surrounded by the people she loved most, Althea knew it was true.
—
The peace was a delicate, beautiful lie and Althea was its most ardent architect.
She wove it into every moment, every time she laughed as Lloyd clumsily grasped Garmadon’s finger, every time she leaned into Misako’s quiet companionship over a shared meal.
She memorized the scent of her son’s skin, the weight of him sleeping on her chest, the way Garmadon’s eyes softened when he looked at them both.
But in the quiet moments, when Garmadon was away at the Monastery maintaining their fragile cover with Wu, the truth would settle in the cabin, cold and unyielding.
On one such afternoon, with Lloyd napping in a sunbeam and the cabin filled with a rare, golden silence, Althea spoke. Her voice was calm, but it carried the weight of a finalized decision.
“When the time comes,” she said, not looking at Misako but at her sleeping son, “I will lead them away.”
Misako, who had been polishing a lens for her spyglass, went still.
She didn’t need to ask who ‘them’ was. “Althea…”
“It is the only way that makes sense,” Althea continued, her tone analytical, as if dissecting a historical battle instead of planning the fracture of her own heart. “You and I both know the Tomb would be a temporary solution.”
Her eyes set on her child. “They hunt the Warden and the Fragment. As long as those two things are with Lloyd, he is in perpetual danger. But if the Warden and the Fragment vanish, leaving behind only a scholar and a child… the trail goes cold. They would have no reason to look twice at him.”
She finally turned her gaze to Misako, her pastel green eyes clear and resolute. “You would have to take my place. Not just as a decoy, but as his mother. You would have to become Misako, mother of Lloyd, in the eyes of the world. It is the only disguise strong enough.”
Misako’s breath caught. She remembered the ferocity of Garmadon’s refusal months ago, the raw, possessive terror at the mere suggestion of such a ruse.
“You know he would never allow it,” she whispered. “When you suggested this before, even as a temporary deception, he reacted as if you’d asked him to carve out his own heart.”
A sad, knowing smile touched Althea’s lips. “I know. That is why I am telling you and not him. He would burn the world down to keep us together. But I cannot let him. Some wars cannot be won with fire, they can only be won with silence and disappearance.”
Her voice wavered for the first time, betraying the agony beneath the calm. “My love for them is the very thing that must lead me away.”
The two women sat in the heavy silence, the plan hanging between them like a shroud.
It was a brutal, brilliant strategy.
By making herself the bait and Misako the guardian, she would redirect the entire hunt away from her son.
Lloyd would be safe, ordinary, hidden in the most obvious of places, a mother’s arms.
Just not her arms.
“He would never stop looking for you,” Misako said softly. “It would destroy him.”
“It would save his son,” Althea countered, her voice regaining its steel. “That is a price I am willing to pay. And it is a price he would pay, too, if he could think past his own heart.”
She looked down at her hands, then back at Lloyd. “But not yet.”
The fierce determination in her eyes melted, replaced by a wave of pure, maternal longing. “For now, I just… I want to be here. I want to feel his weight in my arms. I want to watch Garmadon learn the shape of fatherhood. I want to share tea with you and pretend, just for a little while longer, that this sanctuary is not made of paper and wishes.”
Her composure finally broke, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek. “For now, I just want to be Althea. His mother. Just for a little while.”
Misako felt her own eyes sting.
She saw not a Warden making a tactical retreat but a mother memorizing the last, precious days of her child’s infancy. She saw the immense cost of the love that filled this small cabin.
She didn’t offer empty comfort or argue further. She simply reached out and covered Althea’s hand with her own, a silent pledge.
“For now,” Misako agreed, her voice thick with emotion, “we enjoy the peace.”
And as if on cue, Lloyd stirred in his sleep, letting out a soft, contented sigh.
Althea’s gaze snapped to him and her entire being seemed to lean toward him, drinking in the sight, storing it away for the long, lonely nights to come.
The plan was set, a ghost waiting in the wings.
But for now, there was only the sunbeam, the silence, and the unbearable, beautiful weight of a mother’s love.
—
Wu watched his brother pour tea and the world felt subtly off-kilter.
It was a simple act, one Garmadon had performed a thousand times before, usually with an impatient clatter of pottery, a sigh that spoke of better things to do.
Today, his movements were fluid, deliberate.
He held the teapot with a focus Wu associated with mastering a complex Spinjitzu scroll, not with the mundane task of serving oolong.
The usual tension that radiated from Garmadon like heat from a forge was gone, replaced by a stillness that was… serene.
It was the most disconcerting thing Wu had witnessed in centuries.
"You seem… well, brother," Wu ventured, choosing his words with the care of a man disarming a trap.
Garmadon handed him a cup, his crimson eyes meeting Wu's with an unnerving directness.
The venomous hue was still there, a permanent stain but the chaotic storm within them had calmed to a deep, contemplative sea.
"The mountain air is clear this season," Garmadon replied, a non-answer that had become his standard refrain.
But it was different now.
Before, his evasions were sharp, defensive, layered with a bitterness that choked the air. Now, they were… peaceful. As if the secret he guarded was not a festering wound but a cherished treasure.
"You have been spending a great deal of time in that mountain air," Wu pressed gently, sipping his tea. "It agrees with you more than the Monastery's gardens ever have."
A faint, genuine smile (a sight so rare it was like watching a desert bloom) touched Garmadon's lips. "Some soils are better suited for different kinds of growth."
The comment was so uncharacteristically philosophical that Wu nearly choked on his tea.
This was not his brother.
This was a man who had found an answer to a question Wu didn't even know he was asking.
Their conversation meandered.
Garmadon spoke of the resilience of high-altitude lichen, the hunting patterns of the eastern hawk, topics he would have once dismissed as Wu's boring scholarly pursuits.
He was present, engaged but his mind, Wu could tell, was elsewhere.
And for the first time, that elsewhere did not seem to be a dark place.
It was this happiness that was the greatest mystery.
This was not the grim satisfaction of a mission accomplished or the fleeting thrill of a battle won.
This was a deep, abiding contentment that had settled into Garmadon's very bones.
It had softened his edges, banked the fires of his rage and given him a patience Wu had never seen in him.
As they walked through the courtyard, Wu’s eyes fell upon Morro.
The boy was practicing with a frenetic, desperate energy, his Spinjitzu a sharp, green vortex of ambition and unspoken need.
"He strives too hard," Wu murmured, more to himself than to his brother. "He seeks to fill a void with skill alone."
"He is lonely," Garmadon said, his voice quiet. He watched Morro not with a master's critical eye but with a strange, almost paternal understanding. "He believes mastery will earn him the belonging he craves. He does not yet understand that some things cannot be earned. Only given."
Wu stared at his brother, stunned into silence.
The insight was profound, compassionate and utterly alien coming from Garmadon.
The man who had once been consumed by his own voids was now speaking of filling others'.
When Garmadon left later that day, his departure was not a fleeing from the Monastery's confines but a calm, purposeful return to his chosen path.
He clasped Wu's shoulder, a firm, warm gesture that felt nothing like the desperate grips of before.
"Take care, Wu," he said, and for the first time, it sounded less like a farewell and more like a blessing.
Wu stood alone in the courtyard long after his brother had vanished, the ghost of that impossible smile etched in his mind.
The fear that Garmadon was falling to darkness had been replaced by a more confusing, more profound concern: Garmadon was being healed, transformed by something (or someone) outside of Wu's reach or understanding.
He had spent centuries trying to pull his brother back from the brink, to anchor him to the light.
But it seemed Garmadon had not been pulled back.
He had been called away.
He had found his own anchor, his own light, in some hidden valley.
It had granted him a peace that all of Wu's teachings and the Monastery's serenity had failed to provide.
The brother Wu knew was gone.
In his place was a happier, healthier, more complete stranger.
And as Wu turned his worried gaze back to Morro, the boy still spinning in his desperate, lonely vortex, he was faced with a troubling new truth: perhaps he had been trying to save the wrong brother all along.
---
Oh man I wish I can go full energy like Althea
As always, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!
Chapter 13 || Main Information || Chapter 15
