#teddy writes

The walls Dirk has up are extraordinarily high, even with those he loves, the ones he cares for doesn't see him ever, really turn off.

Always thinking, brain analyzing, toeing the line of a breakdown because his brain doesn't stop. It's exhausting, the blonde feels it in his bones, in the way his shoulders tense, in his hands when his grip gets too tight. Knuckles turning white.

There is no off button for his mind, as much as he'd like to program it, maybe cut into his own brain and get the voices to shut the fuck up for once. It'd be easy, probably. Making robots and impossible shit happen is his thing. Or, a darker part of himself thinks, just to pull the plug so he can solve it and be done with it.

Mind jumbling, he doesn't register your knocking. Your head peeking through the door when you receive no answer.

When you start to bug him at night, he's a bit annoyed. Not enough to kick you out, but behind his shades he can't help but roll his eyes.

You've always clung to his side more than you did with the others, wordlessly finding him. He gets it, the cool guy facade he uses has that effect. But it works a bit differently with you.

You've always been a worrier, always trying to take care of others before yourself. You can see through him better than he'd like to admit, and thus stick close. Traits he loathes and loves in equal measure.

Deep down, he's pleased at the thought that you seek his company. (Enjoys the fact you seek him over Jake, over Roxy and Jane. Let's it fuel his ego just a hint.)

This is a normal thing friends do, however Dirk has never been able to meet or understand fully the expections of friendship, just barely scraping by. He has no idea how he managed this far.

Eyes burning, but he still keeps tinkering. if his fingers keep moving, and his brain is calculating just how to make this stupid fucking contraption work, it'd be great.

Rather focus on this meaningless project than spend a moment thinking about himself, he grinds his teeth together, until you shuffle in close, leaning into his space from over his shoulder.

"Dirk?"

He takes in a breath, and exhales softly, dropping the tools down and popping his knuckles in a vain hope to release tension.

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Don't need anything, its just-" your eyes squint at the clock in the corner of his room.

"It's 12am buddy, I think you need to sleep."

"I don't think sleeping is the move, I have certain things I need to do, shit that can't wait." He shrugs, not paying your concern any mind.

Dirk doesn't need a babysitter, he raised himself. All that stupid shit the human body needs.

He figured it out, didn't he?

No one knows, or will ever know how he would avoid the kitchen for days on end, how he'd pass out and find himself on the floor, head throbbing, blood specks littering the ceramic tile, lingering in the grouts. The way his teeth would bleed when it occurred to him that 'hey, maybe I should brush my disgusting teeth', hair roughly combed by a brush, only to be snagged on matts. Half assing the bandages on his arms from where he got too overzealous, and the lack of care he treated when the bandages get soaked through in blood.

He doesn't need your care.

No one really argues with him anymore about it. No one can make Dirk do what he doesn't want to do. Many people have tried and failed.

Striders are stubborn and it is best to let them do whatever the fuck they please.

"Dirk, when was the last time you slept?" Your voice is soft, like you're trying to avoid upsetting him. But it does the opposite effect, his guard raises. Teeth baring.

"What does that matter to you exactly? Shouldn't you be in your bed and not botherin' me? No one else awake to hear you talk about pointless shit?" Playing into an insecurity. Great.

The man winces internally the second the words come out his mouth. He sounds like a fucking asshole, but he doesn't apologize.

Doesn't take it back, not even when you flinch a bit, you look at him with those big wide eyes and it feels like he just kicked a puppy.

He expects you to leave then, for you to scoff and roll your eyes and walk out the door. It'd be better, Dirk thinks. Less chance of him ruining things even further. It's a good calculation.

Doesn't play out though, your eyes narrow and glare into him, and suddenly he feels the back of his white tee being tugged, hard.

"Okay, so you wanna do this the hard way? Fine. Let's go."

"Excuse me?" His brows raise high, your only indicator that he's shocked.

"You heard me whiteboy, let's go."

With a startling amount of strength he did not realize you had for such a small thing (He's 6'1, it isn't rare for people to be smaller than him) and a lil shocked by the audacity of you, he lets himself be dragged

Up off the chair, through the doorway and then to his bedroom, you kick the door open, grumbling under your breath.

He towers behind you, taking in the warmth of your hand, the way your fingers curling around own with a death grip. It's rare that he doesn't have his black gloves on. It's strangely intimate, for his palms to touch yours.

It feels pathetic, to even admit that he feels something akin to nerves about touching you like this.

The small gnawing part of his brain starts to think, 'wow, you don't deserve this don't you? Why would they of all people, spend their time worrying about your wellbeing? You must be so pitiful, that's it. They must've been sent by Dave or some shit to check on your miserable ass, your disgusting hands, do they even know what you are?-' incessant spiraling, the second he is left alone with his own thoughts.

Dirk blinks, and the next thing he knows you've pushed him into bed, his back against the soft material and he groans, feeling it deep in his chest.

It has been awhile since he's slept on it, passing out at his desk more often than not. The muscles in back and neck lose tension, he allows himself to sink into it. To allow himself a crumb of comfort.

Bringing a hand to rub the numbness from his face, the stubble rough against his palms, scratching against the scars and small scabbed over cuts. It stings a bit.

"Sleep." You lean over him, your eyes narrowed into slits as you have your arms crossed. Trying to look intimidating.

You don't, not to him anyways. His eyes drink you in, the way your hair hangs a bit, the way your right eye twitches a bit in irritation. He doesn't deserve it, you should be doing this with anyone else. Surely the others need you, they'd appreciate you the way you deserve. Yet you're here. With him. He'd laugh if he had the energy.

"I can't." Simple and to the point, he doesn't think it'll work.

"Why not?" Yeah. Figures.

"Not tired." He's reminded of the stinging of his eyes.

"Bullshit, your bags are fucking huge, I can see them from underneath the shades." You wave your hands gesturing to his face.

"Why are you looking so hard? Hoping to see somethin? You think I got weird shit under here?" Deflect, deflect and deflect some more.

"Like what? Your eyes? Dirk, you haven't slept for days. Stop trying to ragebait me and at least try." You groan, grabbing his only pillow and proceeding to beat him with it, you have half a mind to press it to his face.

Suffocating would help speed up the process at least.

Dirk makes no move to stop you, just laying stark still.

"You done yet or are you still gonna keep this stupid shit going. I need to get back to my desk."

"Fuck you. Scoot over." Dirk moves a bit to the side as you crawl into his bed, body tense as it registers your warmth next to his. His jaw ticks, and he forces himself and every nerve in his body to relax. Wants to run, to lock himself in somewhere away from you. It's like you don't understand, he doesn't know how to have human contact, despite these years later.

His childhood or lack thereof still seeping its way in and reminding him of how fundamentally different he is.

"Is this a sleepover? At our age? You're seri-"

You pay him no mind this time.

"Yes I'm serious. I'm staying here until your ass goes to sleep." You start to get comfortable, turning onto your side and staring at his face, curled into a little ball.

He briefly registers it as cute before he moves on. Not entertaining that thought, especially not now of all times. For fucks sake.

"Dude, cmon. This is too much even for you."

"Don't care, maybe if you took care of yourself we wouldn't be here. This is your own fault."

Dirk feels your hand move to slap him in the chest, and his own shoots out to grab it, keeping it against him. Selfishly taking in the feeling of you. "You're a pain in my ass."

"Yeah whatever," you move to play with his fingers since he's keen on not letting you go.

He prays to whoever it is up there that you don't feel the shaking, how his breath is a bit short.

You click the bedside lamp on, leaving a soft glow around the room. It soothes him little, knowing you won't be able to see all of him clearly.

"Talk about something at least. It's boring to just lay here."

So you do, filling the room with your voice.

Staring up at the ceiling, he listens to you talk about random things on your mind, some fictional man, a new video game that let's you create little avatars of anyone you want, the drama happening in said game. Eyes fluttering a couple of times before finally shutting for good, breath evening out. His fingers finally releasing, allowing you to get some circulation back into them.

You shuffle a bit in the dark, gingerly grabbing his shades with a delicate hand, knowing how important it is to him, and placing them on the side table.

These are the only times you get to see him with the barrier, a full unobstructed view of his face. Lashes longer than they have any right to be, the scars littered around his face, the one that runs horizontally across his nose. Freckles that kiss his skin.

Jake's hands worked the shampoo through your hair, humming with content as the scent of ginger and orange overwhelmed his senses. He looked down at where you rested in the bathtub. Back to him; the high porcelain walls of the clawfoot tub hiding everything below your shoulders. Skilled fingers rubbing small circles over your scalp, watching as the tension ease from your body. "That feel good, baby cakes?" his hands wander further down the back of your head to your hairline. "Mhm," it almost comes out as a moan when you feel his fingers massage the nape of your neck. Jake loved seeing you like this; completely at ease because of him. He liked seeing you so relaxed, enjoying the way your voice took on a breathy air. "Time to rinse, sweet thing. Lean forward for me," his voice was akin to an aphrodisiac, heat flooding your body whenever he spoke. Causing you to bend to his will (not that you minded, of course).

The water flows through your locks. Cascading suds down your shoulders and back, the bubbles pooling around your middle. You exhaled slowly as the second pass of water comes through, feeling streams streak across your eyelids and trail down your chin. The scent of the product slowly fading. "Do you wanna use conditioner today, baby cakes?" you barely register the question, lost in the feeling of his hands against your body and the heat of the water. "The matching one, Jakey," your words slightly slurred as you point to the shampoos companion product. Once again, notes of ginger and orange waft about the room as Jake rubs a small amount between his fingers. He moved to rub the product into the ends of your hair, taking care to not pull. "What did I do to deserve you, Jakey?" you coo as he rinsed excess product from his hands. He lets out a small laugh. "I don't know, but I'd say you're pretty damn lucky," you lean your head back to look up at him, big love-sick smile spreading across your cheeks. He mirrored the expression.

Wet hands reached out to pull him down to you, plush lips meeting his. The thumb stroking his cheek leaving streaks of water in its wake. Jake hummed into the kiss, chuckling lightly at the whine you made when he pulled away. He pressed one final kiss to your forehead before reaching for the plastic cup he was using to pour water. "Let me give your hair a final rinse, then you can kiss me all you want, baby cakes," his tone, while not stern or harsh, held some authority to it. You nodded in compliance, turning your body to face away from him once more. He finished up, checking to make sure there was no product still left on your hair, then pulling the drain plug. The gurgle of the drain the only sound as he helped you out of the tub and wrapped you in a towel. Jake pressed one last kiss to your forehead before he exited the bathroom. Allowing you to change and do the rest of your routine in peace.

To Midori. I hope you will forgive me, one day. For everything.

Back during the time of the FSM, there was a time where the serpentine had not been created, but the Overlord had been defeated. Before his destruction, he swore that the actions of the FSM will only lead to his continued suffering. 

The FSM became known for being the creator of Ninjago and its defender, and as towns and civilizations grew, they worshiped and praised the one who made it possible. Whether he intended to or not, he became a figurehead in some. Despite this, he never viewed himself as a deity or royalty, and found himself alone despite being among people.

The oni believed he was weak. The dragons believed he was an abomination. Here, he was a deity. No matter the label given to him, it was hard to believe he even had a place here. That he truly belonged and felt like a person.

That is, until he met Midori. 

She was considered, by all means, unimportant. Had a normal upbringing, grew up to own a tea shop and grew her own teas. In her village it was customary for farmers to pay a tribute in hopes of the FSM controlling the weather. She thought it ridiculous, as he never seemed to do so, and confronted him on extorting the locals. In reality, the FSM had never told anyone that he could, and actually didn’t want any offerings or tributes of any sort, but most ignored him. 

Both were shocked at meeting each other. Midori couldn’t believe someone of such great power could be so humble, and the FSM was surprised she wasn’t afraid to rebuke him and treat him as a person. 

Their meeting should have ended there, but the FSM continued to think about her, and this visited her in her shop in secret to avoid the attention of other villagers. She taught him how to work alongside her in the shop, and as the two began to know each other, they fell in love. Eventually, they decided their relationship would be a secret no longer, as Midori was announced to be the FSM’s wife. Despite the sudden change of status and the regalities bestowed upon her for marrying Ninjago’s creator, she was still the same woman he fell in love with.

Midori was headstrong, honest, hardworking and brazen. What was in her mind she would say no matter with who, and above all else supported the FSM and reminded him to stand up for himself if he did not wish to be treated as a god. 

Eventually however, the two sought to have children in peace, and journeyed away from their past home.