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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

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the idiots’ guide to not despising your cousin

Determined to make the best out of the worst hand, Lloyd drags his newly-living pseudo-cousin on the road trip from hell in a desperate attempt to bond. Or get rid of each other for good, they’re not sure yet.

(This requires...a tiny bit of background, part one being that a while back i received a request for “more lloyd and sharks”. Except i misread it as “morro lloyd and sharks” which was like, odd, but i went with it and somehow ended up with 12K words of...this fic, that’s definitely 90% crack. Which brings me to part two, which is that this takes place in an entirely hypothetical au where Morro made it through the rift in s7, or somehow he’s alive the details aren’t important shh)

In his defense, Morro never would have been caught dead in this situation if he hadn’t traumatized his sort-of-cousin by possessing him two years earlier.

…alright, that’s not really a defense, but it’s the only explanation he has.

“I’m just saying,” Lloyd is…saying, as he jabs his pointer finger at him. “I could’ve been a whole foot taller if you hadn’t starved me. You stunted my growth, listening to me for five minutes is the least you can do.”

“I did not stunt your growth, you were already going to be a shrimp anyways,” Morro counters, rubbing his right eye as he tries to focus on his book instead.

Lloyd’s eyes narrow. “A whole week. And all you let me eat was half a slice of bread and vodka shots.”

“Would you — shh, it was not vodka!” Morro hisses, his eyes darting wildly around for Wu. His shoulders slump in relief as he confirms that he and Lloyd are still the only ones in the room, and he turns back, glaring at Lloyd. “I told you, it was juice.”

Lloyd glares right back. “I could still taste, you know. I’m not that naïve.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Morro quips.

Lloyd’s green eyes flash a little too much on the neon side, and Morro backs down. “Alright, alright!” He shakes his head. “I’ll listen to whatever kiddie drama you want.”

“It’s not drama,” Lloyd huffs, flopping down on the couch across from him. “It’s a proposal.”

Morro sneers. “Oh, a fancy word.”

Again, Lloyd sneers right back. “Yeah, do you need a dictionary for it?"

In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing Morro possessed Lloyd at that particular point in his life. If he’d had to deal with this Lloyd, and all his newly-found confidence and sass, he’d have dropped him off a cliff much sooner.

“Listen here, you little punk—”

“Oh, now you want me to listen to you,” Lloyd interrupts. “Spoken like a true raging hypocrite.”

“FSM, what do you want?” Morro finally cracks, tossing his book on the couch beside him. It’s clear he’s not going to be getting anymore reading done until Lloyd leaves.

Lloyd beams, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. “Again, I have a proposal,” he says. “For you.”

Morro already hates this. “No.”

Lloyd continues as if Morro hadn’t spoken. “You should go with me to the coast this weekend.”

“No.”

“The southern coast, so the one like eight hours away.”

“No, what the—” Morro stares at him incredulously. “Why in the world would I ever want to do that?”

Lloyd simply shrugs, as if he hasn’t just suggested the idea from hell. “Because.”

Morro’s going to kill him, tentatively-redeemed status be damned.

“Why, Lloyd.”

Lloyd gets a look in his eyes, the kind that makes Morro shift. “Consider,” he says. “A tornado.”

Morro, unfortunately, does consider that. “There is...merit, to the idea,” he admits, even if doing so pains him.

“Okay, okay,” Lloyd continues, like an enthusiastic salesman with a quota to meet. “Now, consider this: sharks. In the tornado.”

Morro loses any and all faith he’s ever had in Lloyd, which is impressive considering there was nothing there to begin with. “What.”

“Sharks, in the tornado. Like a sharknado.”

Something flickers in the back of Morro’s brain, snatches of a conversation he’d heard from the living room one evening, along with a lot of screeching laughter and pained groans.

“Are you trying to reenact an entirely fictional and entirely garbage movie,” Morro says flatly, mentally crediting Cole for that particular phrasing.

Lloyd’s lip juts out. “No.”

“That’s exactly what it is, isn’t it,” Morro rolls his eyes. “No. Find someone else to be stupid with you. Kai should be down, he always is.”

Lloyd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Will you just — at least hear my final point,” he pleads.

Morro stares into the vast abyss of the ceiling panels, and already regrets answering. “What.”

“The look on the others’ faces.”

Morro pauses again, desperately trying to stop himself — but it’s too late. The looks have been imagined.

Lloyd grins, sharp teeth poking out at the edge of his lip. “Now — the look on Uncle Wu’a face.”

Oh, curse everything. Morro’s coming dangerously close to being made a fool by an idiot shrimp who calls himself his cousin. He quickly backtracks.

“Noted, but that doesn’t explain why you’re asking me.”

“Because you’ve got the wind power for the tornado, duh.” Lloyd makes a face. “Also because the others will probably say something like it’s too dangerous, or a high risk, or some other nonsense like that.”

Morro highly doubts that Jay, or even Kai, of all people, would turn down the opportunity for such potent idiocy, but he does believe they’d tie Lloyd to a pole to keep him from rushing a shark.

“So you’re asking me, out of everyone else in this realm, to drive eight hours — eight — with you to some coast in the middle of nowhere — which includes water, by the way, so that’s already a strike — just so you can recreate some awful B-movie scene?”

“Yup,” Lloyd says. “And maybe drop the whole thing on my dad’s head, if we can find him.”

“Right,” Morro sighs. “Just being clear.”

He drops his head back, staring at the ceiling again. It’s the idea from hell, for certain. Morro would hate himself every minute of it, if he were to agree.

But the idea of hitting the road — of escaping the monastery — does sound tempting.

It has, admittedly, been rather boring at the monastery. Morro’s interactions with the ninja, while not as aggressive as they’d been originally, tend to be strained at best. On the better days, Morro finds the most entertainment in listening to the increasingly creative ways Kai threatens to end his existence with, should he either step out of line, or within a set boundary around Lloyd. Both of which Morro threatens to break by going along with Lloyd’s plan.

Actually, Morro muses, that’s more of a reason to go than to not. Kai’s head might potentially explode if he were to wake up and discover Morro had taken off across country with Lloyd, and Morro would get the added bonus of seeing him chew Lloyd out for being the one to suggest it. So there are definitely pros.

None of them, of course, override the fact that he’d be spending eight hours, in a car, with Lloyd and Lloyd alone. Both ways.

“Eight hours is a long time,” Morro finally says.

Lloyd’s expression drops, before his eyebrows crease stubbornly. “It’s eight hours you wouldn’t spend being hounded by Uncle Wu to train with us.”

Morro cringes. Lloyd has clearly prepared his arguments for this one with devastating accuracy. But still, eight hours. With Lloyd—

“If you do this, I’ll stop tying all your shirtsleeves together when they’re in the laundry,” Lloyd adds.

“That was you?!” Morro exclaims, indignantly. “Nya told me the dryer did that on its own!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lloyd shrugs. “You probably…shouldn’t take Nya’s word on a whole lot of stuff any time soon.”

“Now you tell me,” Morro mutters, sinking further into the couch and bemoaning the universe on the whole.

Lloyd scoots forward on his own couch, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please?” he says. “It’s just this once. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

Morro meets his eyes shrewdly, chewing on his cheek. He’ll regret it, for certain. Probably hate himself and the universe on the whole the entire weekend. But…he does, rather drastically, owe Lloyd. And he is trying to — ugh — make things right with him.

(As if that’s something that can be done.)

And at least there’s the promise of Lloyd leaving him alone.

Morro lets out a long, weary groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But you’re paying for gas.”

Lloyd gives a whoop of victory, before desperately trying to stifle his excitement. “You pay for stuff?” he cackles instead. “Lamest villain ever.”

“Get out,” Morro snarls, hurling his book at him. Lloyd dodges with ease. “Before I change my mind and murder you.”

***********

Lloyd secures a vehicle with a speed and easiness that almost makes Morro doubt which one of them is the reformed criminal. Then he remembers that, technically, they’re both reformed criminals, even if Morro’s ‘reformed’ status is still under hot debate (by himself included).

As it also turns out, Lloyd happens to have a not-so-reformed criminal friend as well, who Morro unfortunately recognizes when he hands the keys over to them.

Ronin abruptly cuts off in his lecture to Lloyd about engine safety as he spots him, his face paling. Morro pauses mid-step, mentally wishing he’d just made Lloyd carry the six packages of Oreos out to the car himself. Lloyd simply smiles, like the oblivious airhead Morro wishes he truly was.

He’s not, though, because the look in his eyes says he’s having the time of his life with this.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,” Lloyd tells Ronin easily. “Morro’s the other person I was talking about.”

Ronin stares between the two of them, and looks as if he’s lost about five years of his life. “How hard do they hit your head in practice, kid.”

“Not hard enough, apparently,” Morro mutters. Ronin pins him with a glare, and despite his better judgement, Morro shuts up.

“It’s all good,” Lloyd assures him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“For some reason, I got trouble believin’ you, kid.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Lloyd huffs, snatching the keys from him. “I’m the Green Ninja. Also, if you tell the others about this I’ll start busting your Thursday night runs.”

Ronin’s expression sours. “Alright, alright, if you wanna go on a suicide road trip, go on a suicide road trip. Just keep me outta it.”

“Gladly,” Morro grouses, shouldering his way between them so he can dump the cursed cookies in the van already.

Ronin watches him through narrowed eyes, and makes a threatening gesture. “If you even try and come back alone…”

“He won’t,” Lloyd says, before Morro can reply. “Promise. I have it all under control.”

“That’s what you all say every time,” Ronin grumbles.

Ronin finally leaves them in peace, muttering something about ‘leaving his Thursday nights alone' before taking off. This leaves Lloyd and Morro and the incredibly hideous minivan, alone. They look at each other. There’s a moment of silence, before they both scramble wildly for the driver’s seat. Morro beats Lloyd out by a half-second, grabbing the steering wheel and shoving him back with a smug smirk. Lloyd glares at him.

“I’m driving,” he demands.

“As if you’re old enough to have your license,” Morro scoffs.

Lloyd narrows his eyes into slits. “At least I was born when cars actually existed.”

“Ooh, I’m old, how will I ever recover,” Morro mocks. “I got here first, I’m driving. Suck it up.”

Lloyd’s face screws up, and for a half-second Morro gleefully thinks he’s about to pout like a child.

To his disappointment, Lloyd blows his breath out, stands up straighter, and plays dirty.

“You take control of the car, you take control of my body, ” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I guess that’s just how it is with you, huh."

Morro’s hands grind where he clutches the steering wheel, and he resists the urge to smash his head against it. “Have you ever heard of abusing your power.”

“Have you ever heard of abusing me.”

“Oh for FSM’s — you can drive, fine!”

***********

They’re roughly an hour out from the monastery, when something strikes Morro as odd.

“By the way,” he says. “How did you convince the idiot quartet to let you go?”

“Don’t call them that,” Lloyd says sternly, glaring at him. “And, uh, I didn’t.”

Morro blinks. Then Lloyd’s meaning sinks in, and he lets out a long, pained exhale. “You do realize,” he says. “That they’re going to have multiple heart attacks, then hunt me down and murder me as prime suspect, right.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lloyd assures him, cheerfully. “I left them a note.”

***********

Kai stares at the slightly-crumpled scrap of paper in his hands and wishes, not for the first time, that Garmadon or Wu or Misako had put in just a little more time in raising Lloyd, so he could blame them for this and not his own example.

Alas, Kai is only able to bury himself in so much denial.

“What’s that?” Cole asks, striding into the kitchen behind him. Kai hands him the note, wordlessly. Cole frowns as he takes it, trying in vain to flatten the edges.

“‘Hey guys, heading out with Morro for a couple days, going to’— something something…sharks?” Cole blinks at the note. “Geez, might need to look into Lloyd’s writing education agai— wait, he’s heading out with who for a couple what.”

“Read the rest,” Kai says, his eyes glazing over as he stares across the kitchen.

“Okay, uh… ‘—taking the van’— we have a van? — ‘shouldn’t go too far, don’t worry.’” Cole’s eyebrows shoot up as he reads on. “‘Also my phone’s dead and I forgot the charger. Sorry.’ He wrote this while he was still here, he could’ve grabbed it!” he exclaims.

“I’m going to slaughter him,” Kai states.

“Uh…which one?”

“Whichever one doesn’t run fast enough.”

***********

As it turns out, Lloyd’s plan consists of a little more than just driving six hours to some random beach in the middle of nowhere. This is unsurprising, as Morro’s been expecting Lloyd to spring nonsense on him at any given moment.

Having lived in his head for a brief stint, Morro also finds it unsurprising that Lloyd’s plan isn’t actually a plan.

“So the tornado thing is easy, obviously, unless your powers suck,” he’s saying. Morro shoots him a look he hopes conveys the depths of his annoyance from where he’s at the wheel. Lloyd switched with him back at the last gas station, having grown fed up with Morro’s lack of skill in reading maps.

It’s not Morro’s fault his reading comprehension rests around that of a nine year-old’s. Like Lloyd’s any better.

“Gonna take that as a ‘maybe’,” Lloyd mutters to himself, squinting back at the map under the above-head car light. “It’s the shark part that’s going to be a little more tricky.”

“I hear they like blood,” Morro says. “I can always skewer you a little, then toss you in. That should do it.”

“Har har,” Lloyd replies, drenched in sarcasm. “That’s obviously not the route we’re taking. Besides, it’d be mean to lure the sharks out and not actually have anything they can eat. I’d probably end up poisoning them or something, with my mutant Oni blood.”

Morro stares at him long enough to nearly run them off the road. He jerks the car back on track just in time, shaking his head and despairing.

“I was thinking, since there’s already an elemental master of nature, maybe there’s like, an elemental master of animals?” Lloyd continues. “Then we could ask them to help us out.”

“Oh, I’m sure some random master would love to help us out,” Morro drawls. “An undead criminal who tried to unleash hell on the country and the son of Lord Garmadon.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lloyd huffs. “People actually like me.”

“Shocker.”

Lloyd ignores him. “Plus, you’re not even undead anymore,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re just regular boring alive, now.”

Morro opens his mouth, because he’s got a lot to say about that, then realizes he doesn’t quite have the words for it, aside from hanging his mouth open like an indignant fish. He shuts it, and Lloyd plows on.

“Do you think we should look for the master of like, fish or something, instead?” he questions, frowning. “I mean, I don’t even know if there is a master of animals, but if there is, sharks are technically fish, and fish are…well, I guess they’re animals too, but what if there’s like, a distinction, and all the hypothetical master of animals can summon are mammals, and we drive out of the way for nothing?”

“I will pay you,” Morro says, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “I will pay you so much to shut up.”

“It’s too much of a risk,” Lloyd decides, ignoring him. “Plan B it is, then.”

Morro doesn’t want to ask. That would be inviting Lloyd to run his mouth again, and Morro doesn’t hate himself that much.

But he does, regretfully, want to know how he’ll be meeting his fate.

“What’s plan B?”

“So there’s this park,” Lloyd says. “For performing animals.”

***********

Morro and Lloyd are still arguing by the time they pull into the motel parking lot for the night. That had been a different argument altogether, but as they’d had to sneak out around midnight to get on the road successfully, neither had really wanted to keep driving through the early morning hours.

“—no, no, I cannot make this clearer, no,” Morro growls. “I am not breaking into some — some stupid amusement park, just to steal their dancing sharks or whatever.”

“Oh come on, it’s stealing! That’s like, your favorite pastime,” Lloyd shoots back. “A shark is nothing compared to body-snatching.”

“That’s not going to work on me again,” Morro seethes.

“Oh yeah?” Lloyd taunts. “Why not? Did your morality meter run out?”

“My what—”

“I can never dye my hair black because of you,” Lloyd continues, eyes narrowed. “I will never know the teenage joys of horrifying your family by dyeing your entire head jet black, because of you.”

“It didn’t look that bad,” Morro defends.

“I’m talking about the trauma!” Lloyd snaps.

Morro pauses. “Your trauma, or theirs?”

Lloyd opens his mouth, then frowns. “Min—their— both, both traumas!”

While Morro wants to scoff back that having to endure the sight of Kai’s hair is equally traumatic for him, he also recognizes that Lloyd has a point. Which is inconvenient, because Lloyd’s beginning to use that point against him a little too well lately, but considering Lloyd also still wakes up screaming in the night because Morro’s given him chronic nightmares, he decides not to push back against that point.

Because he’s a nice person, like that.

He does, however, attempt to push for sense.

“Stealing a shark from a theme park is still theft,” he argues under his breath, as they make their way toward the motel check-in. “Isn’t that something you’re against?”

“Theft, yes,” Lloyd replies. “Freeing wrongfully imprisoned sharks from slavery, less so.”

“Oh, so stealing is an act of philanthropy when it’s you.”

“Wow, look at you, breaking out the big words.” Lloyd’s teeth grind together.

“Yeah, you need a dictionary?” Morro sneers back his words from earlier.

Lloyd looks as if he’d like to throttle him, but fortunately for Morro — or unfortunately, as he’d like to see him try — the receptionist at the check-in desk is staring at them with wide eyes now.

To be fair, Morro imagines they make quite a contrasting pair: Lloyd with his light hair in his green hoodie and green high top sneakers, and Morro with his black hair in his black shirt and black jacket and black jeans and black high top sneakers.

At least Lloyd’s basketball shorts are like, a grey color. For contrast, not that Morro cares.

He does care that they’re both wearing high top sneakers, but that’s only because it’s annoying.

Lloyd finally straightens, transforming instantaneously into a bright, innocent-eyed ray of infuriating sunshine. “Hi!” he greets. “Can we get a room for two, please?”

“Oh,” the lady blinks, clearly blinded by the intensity of Lloyd’s beaming smile. “Of course, sweetheart, one moment.”

Morro fights back the urge to inform the receptionist that Lloyd is actually a half-demon monster who could and would drag her on an eight-hour road trip from hell, with the sole purpose of stealing sharks.

He resists, though. Since he’s a nice person, like that.

The receptionist hands them the keys with ease, but it’s only as Lloyd struggles to get the room door open that the reality of their situation hits Morro.

Lloyd finally swings the door open, and Morro stares in horror at the small room. “Wait, we’re sharing a room?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lloyd shrugs. “Unless you’ve got the money for two, ‘cause I definitely don’t.”

Morro’s jaw creaks. Lloyd knows full well he has about three cents to his name. “Tell me there’s two beds.”

Lloyd scoffs loudly. “Please. I’m not completely insane.”

Morro would beg to differ, because he’s got them sharing a room, but he’s true to his word, at least. While the room is about the size of a glorified closet, there are two single beds, neatly arranged side by side. In silent agreement, the first thing Lloyd and Morro do, after tossing their bags down, is shove the beds as far as they can from each other against the opposite wall. The bedside table relocates nicely as a barrier in the no-man’s zone between the two. Morro would prefer, say, a five-feet thick vengestone wall between the two of them, but sure, the bedside table thing works.

They make camp on their respective beds after that, Morro skimming idly through his book while Lloyd flips through the little leaflet on the bedside table. He frowns, swinging his legs at the edge of his bed.

“D’you think we should just order dinner in?” he says.

Morro ignores him, continuing to thumb through his book. He hasn’t been particularly hungry since they finished an entire package of Oreos somewhere around the second hour in.

Not one to be discouraged, Lloyd continues anyways, mumbling to himself. “It’s a little late, but it looks like there are some pizza places that’ll deliver here…”

Morro frowns. “Pizza’s that cheese bread stuff, right?”

Lloyd goes silent. He stares at Morro, his expression frozen. “What.”

Morro shifts, uncomfortable at the stare Lloyd has on him. “What?”

“You’ve…never had pizza?” Lloyd finally gets out, as if the very idea is horrifying.

“No?” Morro offers. “You know I don’t eat dinner with you all. I certainly don’t eat your disgusting greasy junk food, either.”

“Disgusting — you’ve never had pizza,” Lloyd repeats, scandalized. “That’s what’s disgusting here. We’ve gotta fix this. Not even you deserve to go your life without pizza.”

“I’m touched,” Morro drones.

“Shut up, and pick out a topping.” Morro yelps as Lloyd suddenly materializes on the bed next to him, shoving the leaflet in his face. “So the standard go-to is cheese, ‘cause you can’t go wrong with that, but pepperoni’s pretty across the board, too. Kai and Nya like little peppers on theirs, so if you like spicy stuff that’s the way to go, but Cole swears by bacon bits, and Jay likes both. Zane likes the vegetable kind, but that’s just ‘cause he’s weird, so there’s that and pineapple, if you’re a mutant—”

“I’ll take the pineapple,” Morro blurts, in a desperate attempt to cut Lloyd’s babbling off.

Lloyd wrinkles his nose. “You’re not gonna like it,” he threatens. “But I’ll get us one of those split pizzas, so we can do like, two slices of pineapple, then the rest can be cheese and pepperoni, I guess, if that sounds good?”

“I literally could not care less.”

“Taking that as a yes!” Lloyd says, cheerfully. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Wonderful,” Morro grimaces. “Now get—” he shoves Lloyd, sending him sprawling to the floor with a yelp. “Back over on your side.”

It takes an unfortunately quick time for the pizza to be delivered, so Morro doesn’t have the chance to pretend he’s fallen asleep before Lloyd’s invading his space again, shoving the pizza in his face.

“Try it,” he demands. “One piece, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That better be a promise,” Morro grouses, but he takes the slice he’s being offered, holding it gingerly between two fingers. He makes a face. “This is what you’ve been going on about? I can see the grease dripping off it.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Just try it, geez. What are you, chicken?”

“What are you, five?” Morro retorts. He relents though, ever-so-carefully taking the tiniest of bites.

He pauses. Lloyd watches him expectantly. “And?”

Morro knows exactly what Lloyd wants to hear, and he’d eat rocks before he’d let him have it. Unfortunately, his tastebuds are arguing a different case.

Morro doesn’t reply, but he takes another bite, this one considerably larger. FSM be cursed, it’s good.

“Haha!” Lloyd crows, rocking back where he sits cross-legged on the floor. “You love it! I knew it.”

“I do not,” Morro argues. The mouthful of pizza he has doesn’t exactly sell his point.

“Do too,” Lloyd grins, taking his own slice.

Morro hesitates, then goes for another slice, giving in. “The pineapple stuff is pretty good,” he admits, reaching for the fruit-laden pizza. Lloyd chokes, his triumphant smile evaporating as his eyes go wide in horror.

“No. No, you can’t. I know you’re deranged, but you can’t be that far gone—”

“It’s good,” Morro shrugs, taking another bite.

Lloyd gags, looking as if he’d like to cry. He settles for a sigh of despair instead, reaching for one of the slices of cheese. The edges of the crust are a bit blackened, but Lloyd doesn’t seem to mind.

“When I was a kid,” he says, as he catches a trailing string of cheese with his fingers. “Burnt pizza was my favorite thing ever. It was super easy to get, if you hung out behind the restaurants. They’d always throw them out in boxes and stuff, so it wasn’t as gross to swipe outta the trash.”

Lloyd’s eyebrows furrow, and his expression drops. “Uh, I mean, sorry. The guys get weird when I talk about that stuff, ‘cause it’s…weird, I guess.”

Morro eyes him. Far be it from him to reassure Lloyd, but — “I don’t think it’s that weird,” he says. “I’d snag stuff from the trash all the time when I was on the streets.”

“Really?” Lloyd’s expression brightens. “That was how I always ate when I was hanging in cities! Smaller towns not so much, since you could swipe stuff from food stands easier there.”

Morro nods in agreement. “The bigger cities are a lot better for scavenging, but smaller villages are where it’s at for stealing. People let you get away easier there.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Lloyd exclaims. He shakes his head, muttering to himself. “I knew it wasn’t that weird. The guys just like to overreact all the time.”

“Tell me about it,” Morro snorts. “Wu’d always act like I’d kicked him in the shins when I brought that sort of stuff up.”

“Sounds like him,” Lloyd giggles, before lapsing back into silence as they both finish the pizza.

If Morro didn’t know any better, he’d call it comfortable.

***********

Sleeping, however, is not comfortable.

Morro stares up at the ceiling, his eyes wide open. Across the room, Lloyd does the same from his own bed.

“Go to sleep,” Morro finally says. “You’re creeping me out.”

“You go to sleep first,” Lloyd responds, after a minute.

Morro grits his teeth. “No, you.”

“What, so you can murder me?” Lloyd hisses.

“I’m more worried about you murdering me!” Morro hisses back.

“You’re the ex-criminal. Maybe I don’t wanna wake up to the Preeminent at my throat.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to wake up with the Serpentine at my neck.”

“Oh, shut up, you hypocritical jerk—”

“You’re the one with a blabber mouth, you stuck-up wannabe-martyr—”

***********

In the end, neither of them wake up with slit throats. Neither of them wake up with marker all over their face, or tied up in their own sheets, or halfway out the window, either. It is, quite possibly, a miracle.

***********

“Well, Lloyd charged a pizza to my credit card, so we know they’re alive, at least,” Cole sighs.

“He took your credit card?” Nya frowns. “I thought Morro was the one who— you know what, never mind, Lloyd makes perfect sense.”

“He redacted the location, too,” Cole taps wearily at his phone. “Wow, we really did raise a child criminal.”

Kai moans into his hands where he’s slumped over at the table, hunkering in the pits of anxiety-induced despair.

“Y’know, it’s not too late to chase them down,” Jay remarks. “Could be fun, we could all join in on whatever awful road trip they’re having.”

“Sensei Wu said we need to let them go,” Cole mutters. “So they can ‘work things out’. That, or he wants to collect on their life insurance early.”

Jay makes a face. “And we’re listening to him…why?”

“Lloyd disabled location services on his phone,” Zane says, dully. “And since the van was procured from Ronin—”

“We have no idea where they are,” Nya growls. “I’m going to slaughter him.”

“Morro, Lloyd, or Ronin?” Jay asks.

Nya exchanges looks with Kai. “Whichever one doesn’t hide well enough.”

***********

“So if we’re looking at this logically, I think our best bet is to just sneak in the park as tourists, so we blend in with everyone. It’s a pretty busy time of the year, so we should go unnoticed—”

“Next exit.”

“—and then we’ll be able to — huh?”

“Next exit. On the left.”

“The left? I thought it was the right. Are you sure you aren’t reading the map upside down again?”

The vein near Morro’s forehead throbs. “I’m not, now get in the — get in the left lane, Lloyd, or we’ll miss it!”

“I swear, if you make me U-turn in the middle of the highway again…” Lloyd grits out, but he sends them careening across the freeway, darting into the left lane just in time to make their turn. Morro clutches the armrest with white knuckles, desperately trying not to cover his eyes with his hands like he has every other time Lloyd’s driven.

“You drive like a maniac,” Morro finally gets out, as Lloyd pushes the car well over the local speed limit. “Whoever let you have a license should be jailed.”

“Wimp,” Lloyd mocks. “I don’t wanna hear it, with how you and your whack-job ghost pals would drive around.”

“That was different,” Morro grinds his teeth. “We had reliable vehicles and I was too dead to care. This is a bucket of bolts, and I’m unfortunately alive enough to not want to die in a fiery inferno because you crashed us head-on into a semi truck.”

“Seriously?” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “You sound like Uncle Wu.”

Morro turns to stare at him so fast his neck practically cracks. He continues to stare at Lloyd, his mouth half-open, too viscerally horrified to form a response.

He finally manages a croaked, “Take that back.”

“Nope.” Lloyd is grinning.

“Take it back, I sound nothing like him—”

Lloyd says nothing, still grinning. Dying in a fiery inferno is sounding better by the minute, if it means dragging Lloyd down with him.

“So anyways, as I was saying,” Lloyd continues, as they pull into view of the park. “I think we should slip in the park dressed like tourists—”

“Mm-hm.”

“—with tickets that I can buy on Cole’s credit card—”

“Classy.”

“—which’ll give our location away, ‘cause there’s no hiding that, but we should be clear out of here by the time he checks anyways—”

“Nobody cares.”

“—alright, alright, so we’re in as tourists, then we just…grab a shark and, uh, borrow one of their big moving trucks, I guess.”

Morro stares at him. “Borrow. The park’s semi truck they use to move sharks.”

Lloyd winces. “Well, we can’t fit the shark in here.”

They both give the minivan a once-over, and cringe in unison.

“So let me get this straight,” Morro rubs his temple as Lloyd pulls them into the parking lot, pocketing their tickets with the slightest expression of guilt and a whispered ‘Forgive me Cole’. “Your plan is to just…walk into the park, pretending we’re totally normal people, then somehow stuff a shark in a truck and — and what? Bust through the front gates?”

“I was more thinking we could swipe park uniforms while we’re in there, and sneak out like Star Wars,” Lloyd says, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands.

Morro buries his face in his hands. “I despise everything you are.”

“It’s a solid plan!” Lloyd defends, kicking the car door open. “It’s better than anything you have.”

“Planning for something this stupid would burn my brain cells to a crisp,” Morro grumbles, sliding out of the van. He eyes the vehicle, something occurring to him. “By the way. If we’re busting out of here in a park truck, what does that mean for this thing?”

Lloyd pauses, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Uh…” he sweats. “I’m, uh. I’m sure Ronin’s done something bad enough that he deserves us leaving it here.”

“We’re going to come out of this with so many people after our heads,” Morro exhales.

***********

Morro lets Lloyd snag them clothes from a nearby gift shop, which is probably the worst mistake he’s made in his life. Whether Lloyd is still aiming for a bit of revenge or his fashion sense really is just that appalling, the outfits he picks out for them almost succeed at burning Morro’s eyes out on the spot.

“What is this,” is all he manages to get out, staring blankly at the bright yellow, button-up shirt he’s holding in his hands. It wouldn’t be so bad, if it didn’t have ugly orange flowers and pineapples printed all over it as well.

“It’s what you get for liking pineapple on your pizza,” Lloyd quips, as he pulls a garishly orange t-shirt over his head. His shirt has “I Went to Oceanworld and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt” printed on it in bright pink script, which is at least better than the ugly flowers Morro gets. On the other hand, Lloyd’s stuck with a pair of truly hideous, neon blue running shorts, while Morro at least gets navy cargo ones, so there’s that tiny victory.

“Also, these were the best options they had,” Lloyd winces, having caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window as they head toward the park entrance, a crowd of people already starting to form around them. “Here, put these on.”

Morro stares at the purple sunglasses Lloyd’s handed him. “Absolutely not.”

“This too,” Lloyd ignores him, shoving a neon green baseball cap on him. “See, I’m letting you have the green one, ‘cause—”

“If you even finish that sentence, I’ll drown you in the first fish tank we see,” Morro grits out, shoving the sunglasses on. Lloyd just gives him a sunny smile, tugging a vivid pink baseball cap over his hair. He, at least, looks like he fits in here, with his idiot smile and the way he almost starts bouncing as they mingle in the crowds. Morro, on the other hand, feels much as if he sticks out like a sore, sweaty thumb.

“You know, I might actually take you up on that drowning thing,” Lloyd mutters as they drift further into the park, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “If only so I end up in the water. It’s so hot.”

“Makes me miss your grandfather’s tomb,” Morro mutters beneath his breath. Lloyd spears him with a glare out of the corners of his eyes. “What?” Morro defends. “It was at least cold there.”

“I remember. I almost died ‘cause of it,” Lloyd growls, his eyes flashing in warning.

“Pretty sure you were more likely to die of starvation by that point,” Morro remarks easily. “But you were already a twig to begin with, so—”

He cuts off with a strangled shout of pain as Lloyd shoves him face-first into a sign, his nose crunching against the metal. Morro pulls away angrily, only to come face to face with a truly hellish, grinning shark on the sign, pointing its deformed fin to the right. Just below the awful shark is a small, printed square that points ahead, reading Park Maintenance: Transportation.

“Just so you know, I’m going to roundhouse-kick your teeth out for that later,” Morro tells Lloyd calmly. “But I think I’ve found our stop.”

Lloyd’s expression switches from Oni hell spawn of doom to enthusiastic devil child in a heartbeat. “Oh, seriously? That was fast.”

“Aw,” Morro sneers. “Did you want to stop by the kiddie park before we left?”

Lloyd’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t spare Morro a second glance. “Nah, but I wanted a picture of you in that shirt to immortalize. Kai’ll get a kick out of it.”

Morro pales rapidly. “No. No, Kai does not hear a word of this. This stays between you and me forever and then we die. Kai. Never. Knows.”

“I’ll keep it quiet if you give me your credit card.”

“Ha! You know this entire family’s broke.”

Breaking into park maintenance is laughably easy — or it would have been, if they weren’t dressed in the ugliest, most obvious colors possible. They make it through three different doors on the excuse that they’re “poor, lost cousins whose uncle left them to die”, but after that they have to start knocking people out. Morro debates arguing for murder, because witnesses and all, but covering their stolen uniforms in blood before they even have the chance to wear them is probably a bad move.

At least the uniforms are a decent combo of white and sky blue, instead of a criminal offense on the eyes.

“Just like Star Wars!” Lloyd exclaims happily, as they sprint for the truck.

It takes every bit of Morro’s willpower not to lock him in the nearby fish tank. He doesn’t, though, because Lloyd somehow manages to locate the one shark actually scheduled for transport, which means all they have to do is subtly distract a few more employees and steal the truck before the furious horde of security guards on their tail catch up and send them both to the Departed Realm in style.

“I said subtly distract them!” Lloyd cries, as Morro neatly finishes chopping his hand into the last employee’s neck, sending him into blissful unconsciousness. “Not that!”

“Do not take the moral high ground with me now,” Morro snaps at him. “I saw what you did to the other security guard, you absolute menace.”

“That was different, can we just— oh, good, the shark’s in the tank and everything,” Lloyd pants, flicking through the little camera view screen on the truck dashboard. “And there’s the exit gate, and there’s — oh, there’s security coming to kill us.”

“What?” Morro yelps, craning his head over. “They shouldn’t have gotten through the door that soon, we haven’t even found the keys yet!”

“Don’t need keys.” Lloyd slides down, prying the compartment beneath the steering wheel open, exposing a mass of complicated wires. “Strap the shark in and lock the back doors,” he orders, as he starts pulling at them. “I’m gonna hot wire it.”

Morro has about a thousand and two questions for why, exactly, Lloyd knows how to hot wire a car, but he immediately decides he doesn’t want to know. Well, he kind of does, because it’s possibly the only cool thing Lloyd has revealed about himself, but running for their lives from angry, underpaid park employees doesn’t seem to be the best of times.

Morro sprints around the truck, yanking the doors open fully and hoisting himself into the trailer. The shark appears to be whacked out of its mind on what Morro’s guessing is a tranquilizer, floating happily in its little tank, and Morro desperately hopes that’s not about to change with the chaotic horror that is Lloyd’s driving.

“Hang tight, fish,” Morro mutters, as he tightens the box straps. Satisfied it won’t come loose, he stumbles out of the trailer, his hands shaking with adrenaline as he slams the truck doors closed, before skidding around the asphalt for the passenger seat.

“Any day now, Lloyd,” he urges, watching the first of the guards come into view in the car mirror.

“Almost got it,” Lloyd hisses, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he yanks at the wires beneath the steering wheel. “Drat, these things are so much more complicated than smaller cars—”

“Lloyd, believe it or not, I really don’t want to kill anyone today.”

“Got it!” Lloyd exclaims triumphantly, slamming the panel closed as the car hums to life. He slides back up into the driver’s seat, throwing the gearshift forward. “Buckle up, this is gonna be fun!”

“You and I have—” Morro swallows a shriek as Lloyd guns the truck forward, his head smacking back against the passenger seat. “Entirely different definitions of fun.”

“You just don’t know what fun is,” Lloyd accuses as he presses harder on the gas, angered shouts from the security guards echoing behind them.

“I know it’s not what you’re doing,” Morro shoots back, as Lloyd smashes them through several plastic barriers.

“What? How is this not fun?” Lloyd gestures with one hand, the other veering the steering wheel to the right and sending the truck careening through the park exit, narrowly missing the transport shuttle.

“Fun is me having control of this thing,” Morro grits out. “Or having control in general. You know, like how I controlled you.”

Lloyd’s head turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “You are not bringing this back up now.”

“What, it’s fun— eyes on the road, eyes on the road!”

***********

By the time they make it on the interstate, well out of the city traffic, Morro’s lost any doubts he’s ever had that Lloyd is the actual blood descendant of the First Spinjitzu Master. There’s just no other way to explain how they manage to evade the entire park’s security staff as well as the local police without trouble, other than divine intervention.

As all things do, though, even divine intervention runs out. Unfortunately, it’s at the same time that Lloyd and Morro’s adrenaline high runs out as well, leaving them both exhausted and heavy-eyed. And also considerably short-tempered, so when Lloyd fails to spot the pothole in the dark and punctures their front tire, Morro’s already dangerously close to his breaking point.

It’s never a good place to be, when he’s around Lloyd.

“I swear, it’s in here somewhere,” Lloyd says, his eyebrows furrowing as he roots through the glove compartment again. “This is an official park vehicle, they can’t not have a manual.”

Morro doesn’t comment, too busy trying to slide the tire jack in place. It’s his fifth attempt so far, and the failures aren’t exactly helping his rising temper. It wouldn’t be quite as difficult if the road they were on wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, perched at the edge of a steep ravine. But it is, and the tire jack clanks out of place as Morro misses yet again.

“Aha! Got it. It doesn’t look too difficult, actually.”

Morro grits his teeth. How no one has murdered Lloyd for his unfailing optimism yet is beyond him. Utterly beyond him. Especially when it’s his fault in the first place.

“All we really need is to get the spare out from underneath,” Lloyd muses, skimming through the manual. “Then we should be good.”

“Stop saying we,” Morro finally snaps. “We did not destroy the tire. You did.”

Lloyd blinks, then frowns. “You didn’t exactly help,” he murmurs beneath his breath, bending down near the flat tire.

Morro’s fingers clench around the tire jack, his knuckles white. He is not going to lose his temper. He’s not. He is stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a stolen truck and a flat tire, with no help in sight, with Lloyd Garmadon of all people, but he is not going to lose his temper. It’s a waste of energy.

“Look, just — no, you’re doing it wrong,” Lloyd sighs.

Never mind. Morro’s got energy to spare.

“Would it kill you to shut up? For five seconds?” he snaps, whirling on Lloyd. Lloyd flinches back in alarm, and Morro snarls. “This is your fault, would it kill you to stop making things worse for once?”

Lloyd’s face pales. “I just—”

“We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you,” Morro steamrolls over him, not even giving him the chance to speak. He’s done, he’s so done with this. He’s held it together pretty well this whole time, gone along with Lloyd’s stupid trip for a reason he doesn’t even know, but this is it. Being alive is not worth the effort, at all.

“You dragged me on this, you and your stupid, selfish obsession with pretending everything’ll work out fine, like you’re some little kid,” Morro stabs his finger viciously at Lloyd. “Well guess what? Nothing is fine, and neither of us are kids! We never got to be kids, and we’ll never get to be kids, because your horrible family screwed up and you came along and made things so much worse!”

Hurt flickers across Lloyd’s face, and his eyes look oddly shiny. Morro’s too far into his rant to care.

“It’s typical,” Morro spits. “Absolutely perfect. This is all your fault, I mean it. Everything’s your fault, every single stupid thing that’s gone wrong in my life, if it wasn’t for you—”

Lloyd punches him square in the mouth.

It��s not even the hardest hit he’s ever received, but it’s hard enough to send him staggering back a couple steps. Morro reels, so flabbergasted that he’s unable to form words for a good half-minute. He blinks back tears of pain, staring at Lloyd in indignation. “You — you hit me!”

“And I’m not sorry about it at all!” Lloyd yells, fists clenched tightly by his sides, as if gearing up for another hit. “You deserved it!”

He punctuates this by hurling the tire block at him. Morro dodges easily, his own anger flaring back to life.

“You call that a hit?” he scoffs. “Pathetic. This is why you were so easy to possess, you know—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Lloyd cuts over him, kicking a rock at him this time. “FSM, what’s your problem? I don’t even know why I try with you!”

“My problem?” Morro snaps, true and properly angry now. “My problem is that some pint-sized brat stole my whole life from me, and now he’s out here—” Morro grunts as he throws the tire jack at Lloyd. “Trying to pretend we’re cousins!”

“Oh, your whole life,” Lloyd echoes, derisively. “What is it about the green gi that makes you so entitled? You’re like — you’re uglier than some stupid runner-up in a beauty pageant about it!”

Morro’s teeth clack together like a steel trap. “A beauty pageant?!”

“Yeah!” Lloyd shouts. “You’re like a screaming toddler! Who runs onstage and attacks the winner because they didn’t get first place in a contest for a stupid outfit!”

“It’s not! Just! An outfit!” Morro roars.

“I know that!” Lloyd snaps.

“Then why didn’t you give it to me!”

“Because you don’t deserve it! You’re a jerk!”

“You don’t even want it!” Morro yells. “You get the green gi and you don’t even appreciate it! This is why we’ll never be cousins!”

“Good! I don’t want you as a cousin! I hate you!” Lloyd screeches, throwing the car manual at him. “I hate you, I hate you so much!”

“I hate you too!” Morro howls, throwing the tire wrench. It spirals wildly off-aim. “Gods, you’re the worst—”

“Drop dead, Morro!” Lloyd screams.

“Make me!” Morro screams back. “Bet you don’t have it in you, you sniveling little—”

Lloyd, clearly determined to prove that he does have it in him, neatly cuts Morro off by tackling him around the waist, sending them both flying over the edge of the hill and rolling wildly into the ravine.

The screaming that follows is a lot less angry this time, and a lot more like the terrified screeching of two year-olds on a roller coaster.

***********

“D’you think...hospitals will take..the green gi as insurance?”

“S’worth...a try. Not sure, think…my head might’ve cracked.”

“I think I heard my spine snap.”

“Pretty sure that was my knee detaching.”

Morro winces, closing his eyes briefly before opening them, staring up at the starry night sky. There’s a shifting noise near his head, before Lloyd curses, moaning in pain as it stops abruptly.

As it turns out, the ravine went a bit deeper than either of them had been prepared for. The end result is Lloyd and Morro both sprawled at the bottom of the ravine, staring into the void of space as they rethink their particular life choices up to this point. There had been a brief moment where they both attempted to shove themselves back up to continue their fight, but that dream had rapidly died as they both collapsed back into the grass, groaning in pain.

It did kill his temper rather effectively, Morro will admit. It’s difficult to keep screaming when your ribs feel like they’ve been used as a drum by a baseball bat. So they continue to lie there in silence, before Lloyd finally stirs.

“So that, uh,” Lloyd finally breathes. “That was. A lot.”

Morro winces. “Yeah. That was — I haven’t yelled like that in a while.”

“Aw, man,” Lloyd laughs humorlessly, still staring at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve yelled like that since I was like, eight.”

The crickets around them buzz loudly as they lapse into silence. At least the sky’s stopped spinning, Morro thinks.

“I think. Um. I think I probably crossed a line.”

Lloyd’s voice is so quiet, Morro almost misses it. He doesn’t miss the apologetic tone, though.

Morro’s lips press together as something in his chest twists that better not be guilt. “I..might have, as well.”

Lloyd hums. “I probably shouldn’t have compared everything you went through to a toddler.”

“Well,” Morro pauses, thinking back on it. “I mean. That crack about the beauty pageant was kinda funny.”

Lloyd gives a breathless little laugh. “Wanna know something awful?”

Morro cranes his head slightly. “Hm?”

“I actually stole that from Nya. And she was, uh, talking about Kai.”

Morro’s eyebrows shoot up. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Lloyd giggles. “It was after the whole thing with Chen — you saw that, right, in my head?”

“Uh...kind of. Sorry?”

“Nah, I don’t care as much about that one. Anyways, he was a mopey mess after it. Nya was kind of bitter. I might have been…a little bit, too. In secret.”

Morro smirks despite himself. “The Green Ninja, secretly bitter.”

“I’ll never be as bitter as you,” Lloyd retorts.

Morro’s smirk fades. “That’s fair, I guess.” He looks back at the sky, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “Sorry I brought up possessing you again,” he mutters. “That was…probably uncalled for.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “Pretty uncool that you keep doing that.”

“Yeah, well.” Morro sighs. “I’m a work in progress. But still. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it, I think. Not the bringing up the possession part, but the work in progress part.”

“Oh.” Morro chews on the edge of his lip. “Then, uh, I’m also — I’m also sorry I said everything’s your fault.” He closes his eyes tightly. Curse it, the feeling twisting his chest up is most certainly guilt. “That was definitely uncalled for.”

“No,” Lloyd says, quietly. “That’s…that’s fair, too.”

Morro’s eyes blink open, and he cranes his head back to stare at him. “What? No, it’s not. Blame your grandfather, or your dad, or even Wu. Or that, um, giant snake thing, that kept popping up—”

“The Great Devourer?”

“Yeah, blame that.” Morro briefly squeezes his eyes shut again. Oh, this hurts to say out loud. “You’re…you’re still a kid. You’ve been a kid, even if life sucks enough to make it feel like you’re not. S’not fair to blame it all on you.”

Lloyd is silent for a moment, and Morro hopes he’s heard the apology in his words. That’s a new hope for him to have, but it’s genuine.

“Same goes for you, then.” Lloyd’s voice is still quiet, but it’s got that painful sincerity — the kind Morro’s heard before, but never directed at him. “I mean, possessing me wasn’t good, but… everyone deserves a chance to make things right. You’re a kid, too.”

“Lloyd, you know I’m technically like, forty.”

“Yeah, in ghost years. Being dead doesn’t count.”

“Like you’d know.” Morro breaths a humorless laugh. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that I went after a kid for getting slapped with the green gi.”

Lloyd inhales sharply. “Could you maybe go at least five minutes without bringing that up? Just this once?”

Morro blinks at the sudden frustration in Lloyd’s voice. “W-what?”

The grass rustles as Lloyd shakes his head, but he blows his breath out, the anger seeping from him. “I just — I’m sick of it. I get that you hate me, but you could at least have the decency to hate me for me,” he says, wearily. “Hate me for like, my obnoxious habit of repeating stuff, or my annoying voice.”

Morro is quiet for a moment. “Your voice isn’t that bad anymore,” he admits.

Lloyd snorts. “You don’t have to lie.”

“No, I’m serious. It doesn’t do that squeaky-toy cracking thing anymore.”

“Well that makes me feel so much better,” Lloyd huffs.

“You’re welcome,” Morro grins. They lapse into silence again, and the grin slides slowly off of Morro’s face. Oh, curse everything, why is his chest still twisting up in knots.

He finally puffs out a weary breath of defeat. “And I don’t…entirely hate you.”

Lloyd is quiet, digesting that. “Huh. Really?”

“Yeah. Hate your stupid gi, though.”

“Oh, same. You have no idea.”

“Starting to get that, I think.”

“Heh. I guess I don’t…entirely hate you, either.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Disgusting.”

***********

The tire is surprisingly easy to change, when they’re not trying to bite each other’s heads off. There’s no damage to the actual truck or trailer either, so they’re back on the road before daybreak. Lloyd fretfully checks on the shark a minimum of twenty times, but it’s fine as well, peacefully floating in its little tank. He lets Morro drive, in what may or may not be a peace offering, so Morro lets Lloyd choose the music, which is definitely a peace offering. It’s the only way he’d ever willingly listen to the amount of acoustic music Lloyd plays them.

Well…that he’d admit willingly listening to.

They don’t talk much, but it’s a surprisingly comfortable silence, and by the time they pull up to Lloyd’s beach, half finished with the horrendously cheap coffee they snagged from the gas station, Morro doesn’t feel quite as annoyed with the world on the whole.

In fact, he feels dangerously close to being at peace with it, which is obviously unacceptable, so he makes sure to stub his toe at least three times as they maneuver the now-awake and incredibly annoyed shark into the waves.

“Hey, hey, c’mon buddy,” Lloyd soothes, waist-deep in the water as he coaxes the shark toward him. “It’s okay, we’re setting you free. Don’t eat us when there’s much more tasty seafood in the ocean.”

“Maybe Oni is a delicacy for sharks,” Morro suggests, his feet firmly planted on the shore. He’s been assisting with his wind, floating the shark down gently, and that’s already more than enough. “I bet seafood pales in comparison to demon flesh.”

“You’re disgusting,” Lloyd says, but his lips quirk up. “In that case, maybe I should just drop him on my dad.”

Morro snorts, watching as Lloyd finally gets the shark to deeper water, where it swishes its tail happily, clearly overjoyed to be free from its tiny tank.

“There we go,” Lloyd smiles as it swims around him. “Much better, huh?”

Morro watches the shark swim a moment longer, wrinkling his nose as sand digs between his toes. He stifles a yawn, but the coastal winds are picking up around him, gently tugging through his hair and leaving him less tired as his element ghosts over his skin, as if whispering his name.

He’s missed wind like this. The gentler kind.

He finally turns his attention back to Lloyd, and his eyebrows furrow.

“You know this is just one shark, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Lloyd hums happily, letting the shark nose against his hand.

“That doesn’t bode well for your shark tornado plan,” Morro reminds him.

“Eh,” Lloyd shrugs. “I guess freeing a shark is as good as that. I can always get my dad back later.”

“You could dye your hair, that might do the trick.”

Lloyd gives a wry smile. “It wasn’t really about that, anyways,” he murmurs, so quietly Morro almost misses it.

Morro doesn’t know if he wants to try and guess what that’s supposed to mean, so he averts his gaze instead, looking across the quiet, empty beach. It’s removed from the busier parts of the coast, almost abandoned. Certainly not the kind of place Morro would’ve seen Lloyd picking out for a weekend trip.

“So why this beach, in particular?” he finally asks. “Seems pretty out of the way, just for this.”

Lloyd is quiet for a moment, his hands creating tiny eddies in the water around him. His face falls a fraction as he watches the shark swim off, deeper into the ocean, and he dips lower into the water.

“I came here with my dad, once,” he says, quietly. “After he was… back to normal. Without the venom, and all.”

“Oh.” Morro blinks. There’s a lot of meaning behind those words. For some reason, he’s almost frightened to try and decipher it.

Lloyd saves him from it, straightening up where he stands in the water. “So, are you gonna get in, or what?”

Morro blinks, then violently shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. Water and I are not compatible. You know that.”

“You weren’t before,” Lloyd insists. “You are now.”

“What was that you were saying earlier?” Morro reminds him, snidely. “About traumas, and stuff?”

Lloyd’s brow furrows, in what could almost be concern. “You don’t have to,” he says, slowly. “But this is a nice place to start.”

Morro stares at the sand before him, a mere three feet from where the waves stop washing up on shore. He makes a face. It’s not like he’s scared of water. He takes showers, and he’s not afraid to sprint out in the rain if he’s left a book or something outside. But those are just — water in small doses. This sparkling blue hellhole of toxicity is different. It’s saltwater. Saltwater brings back…less than pleasant memories.

Granted, this particular body of toxic seawater doesn’t seem to be quite as deadly at the moment. Lloyd’s skin hasn’t slid off his bones yet, and he’s floating up to his neck in the stuff.

“I’ll pass,” Morro finally says, stiffly. “It’s, uh, a little too rough for me out there.”

Lloyd looks pointedly at where the gentle waves barely lap the shore. Morro grits his teeth. Drat. That makes it rather difficult not to admit that he does, probably, look like a coward. Lloyd tilts his head to the side, studying him with the eerie red eyes he gets sometimes. Morro doesn’t like the look that forms on his face.

“Why,” he says, with a gleam in his eyes. “Are you scared?”

Even though Morro’s seen that coming a mile away, he still reddens. “No.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like you’re scared.”

“I am not.”

Lloyd squints at him. Then, without warning, he splashes the smallest bit of seawater up toward him. Morro jumps back, with what he’ll die before he admits is a high-pitched shriek, skittering away from the tiny droplets.

Lloyd bursts into giggles, and Morro feels his cheeks blazing. “That was low, you little insect—”

“Chicken, chicken, Morro’s a chicken,” Lloyd taunts over him.

“I’ll kill you,” Morro threatens.

“Oh yeah?” Lloyd flashes his teeth at him. “How’re you gonna do that when I’m in the water?”

Morro’s hands clench into fists as he seethes. “I am not scared of the water.”

“Yes, you are.”

Morro takes a threatening step toward him, brandishing his fist. “I am not a chicken!”

“Yes you a-are,” Lloyd repeats gleefully. “Chicken, chicken—”

“Shut up—”

“Bawk, bawk—”

“I’ll break your spine—”

“Not with your chicken arms you won’t—”

“Enough with the chicken!” Morro roars, shaking Lloyd by the collar of his soaking t-shirt. “I am not scared!”

Lloyd presses his lips together, barely holding back what’s either laughter or another one of those infuriating smiles. “Okay, geez. You proved me wrong.”

Morro blinks. Lloyd looks down, and Morro follows his gaze. He blinks again.

He’s standing waist-deep in the saltwater with Lloyd, waves swirling gently around him. His flesh is not melting off. He is not dying an excruciating death. It doesn’t feel like corrosive acid. It feels like…regular water. Kind of cold, regular water, that smells a little like fish.

Morro stares at the water, letting Lloyd’s shirt go as his arms hang limply by his sides. He didn’t even notice putting a foot in.

“Hey, look,” Lloyd says, brightly. “You’re not dead."

Morro should strangle him for this. Lloyd’s tricked him into the toxic death water by annoying him, and Morro didn’t even notice. He should celebrate this new accomplishment by holding Lloyd’s head under the water until he drowns.

Oddly enough, all he can find it in himself to do is stare at the water with the tiniest of smiles. “I’m not dead,” he echoes, quietly.

Lloyd beams at him, and he doesn’t even want to strangle him for it. Morro stands waist-deep in the water, completely at ease, and feels something odd bubble up in his throat. It’s light and easy, like his chest is filling up with a balloon, and for a brief second, he meets Lloyd’s beaming smile with one of his own.

Naturally, that’s when the beach blows up.

***********

On second thought, the ocean can die.

Morro immediately changes his mind about seawater as he’s knocked beneath a large wave, swallowing a mouthful of disgusting salt liquid. Panic twists around his heart as he flails briefly, before a hand locks firmly around his arm and yanks, pulling him to the surface and dragging him forward.

“—can’t believe this, again?!” Lloyd’s yelling in his ear as Morro splutters out saltwater. “What is it now, someone whose got aunt we got fired?”

“Don’t be ridiculousss, you know your own worth,” a hissing voice laughs across the water, and Morro struggles to find his footing as Lloyd drags them both onto the beach. “Imagine my delight when I realized the Green Ninja was lounging on the beach!”

Morro finally manages to push his sopping hair from his face, and he blinks saltwater from his eyes as his vision clears. Several paces down the sand from them stands a scarlet Hypnobrai, an admittedly intimidating weapon held in its scaly hands.

“Oh, of course!” Lloyd spits. “Stupid green power, would it kill you to let me get five minutes of—”

He cuts off in a yelp as the Serpentine fires at them again, dragging Morro to the sand with him as the grenade blast streaks over their heads, exploding somewhere further down the beach.

“It’s okay,” Lloyd pants, as they scramble to their feet. “This is — it’s all good, it’s just one Serpentine. We can handle this, easy.”

Morro whips his head across the beach. “You do see the other four, right?”

“The other—” Lloyd swears. “How did they all get grenade launchers?”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Morro shouts, as they narrowly avoid another three blasts. The lead Hypnobrai cackles wildly at them, waving his weapon like a war flag.

“How did you even find me?” Lloyd yells, as he and Morro sprint around the jetty for cover, stumbling over the protruding rocks. “This is the middle of nowhere!”

The Hypnobrai grins, sharp teeth flashing. “Oh, we wouldn’t have! But I recognized the name on the credit card used at the gas station. To be honest, I was actually expecting the earth ninja.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Lloyd cries. “What kind of karma—”

Morro grasps him firmly by the shoulders and yanks him down, just before another streaking blast of flame can take his head off. Morro cringes as the ensuing explosion rocks the ground beneath them, his ears ringing.

Lloyd crouches lower beside him, muttering frantically. “I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry,” he’s saying in the vague direction of the sky. “I’ll never steal anyone’s credit card again, I promise, I’m sorry—”

“Are you — apologizing to your grandfather right now?” Morro gapes at him.

Lloyd throws his hands in the air. “This has gotta be someone's fau—alt, move!”

He yanks them to the side as another blast narrowly misses them, almost knocking them clear off their feet. Morro grits his teeth, frustration spiking.

“This would be a great time for a plan, oh ninja leader,” he snaps.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” Lloyd’s hands flash green. “Just follow my—”

He gasps, his eyes going wide at something beyond Morro’s shoulder. Morro has a split second of confusion before Lloyd shoves him to the ground, bright green energy blazing to life in a makeshift shield—

Just in time for the next blast to hit him dead on, sending him flying back into the jetty.

Lloyd gives a single, sharp cry before his head strikes the edge of a rock, abruptly going silent as he tumbles to the edge of the jetty, inches from being swept away by the water. He doesn’t move after that.

Morro’s stomach bottoms out, his blood running cold as he’s hit with a sudden rush of terror so strong he almost loses his balance.

Then the rage hits.

Morro turns on the Hypnobrai who fired the blast, his eyes flaming. The snake swallows, suddenly looking pale as he clutches at his weapon.

“Um—”

Morro roars, and the wind turns sharp and vicious, swirling around him in a vortex of fury. The Serpentine shriek in terror as they’re swept up in the gale, Morro’s wind howling as it tears the weapons from their hands. Morro barely hears them, his mind still stuck on the single scream before Lloyd had fallen silent. Anger blazes hot in his chest, and the wind grows bitterly cold, flinging water from the ocean higher and higher. Saltwater splashes against his cheeks, but Morro hardly feels it. He lets the water power his wind instead, sweeping into a furious storm.

He could easily kill them right now — happily, even. But Morro’s been an entire mess of conflicting emotions this weekend, and he’s got more pressing things to worry about, so he sends their weapons flying far out into the ocean instead. He narrows his eyes on them in fury, before hissing out, “Get. Lost.”

They don’t need any help fleeing after that, but Morro still launches them a good thirty feet away. For good measure.

He lets the wind die bit by bit, water splashing back into the ocean. Morro suddenly becomes aware of how his hands are trembling, shaking in the aftermath of adrenaline. There’s a moment of crushing silence in the absence of his howling wind, and his stomach drops.

He whips around, his eyes searching the empty beach desperately. He wasn’t — he hadn’t been thinking of Lloyd when he’d kicked the storm up, but what if—

“Lloyd,” Morro rasps, his throat closing over in fear. “Lloyd, where are you, please—”

“M’here.”

Lloyd stumbles from behind the jetty, coughing up a mouthful of saltwater as he sways dizzily, rubbing his head. “Ow, ow, ow. I’m gonna feel that for—”

Lloyd cuts off in a yelp as Morro grabs him forcefully, pulling him in and wrapping his arms around him. Lloyd goes painfully rigid, his breathing uneven for a beat before he gingerly reaches back, awkwardly patting Morro’s shoulder with his one free hand.

“Uh, M-Morro?”

He clutches him tighter. “Shut up.”

“Mo’o, yer crush’n me.”

“Shut up. You’re terrible. You’re horrible. I get why Kai’s so grumpy all the time. How does Kai not have grey hair. How.”

Lloyd makes a muffled sound of indignation as Morro refuses to let go. He probably looks ridiculous, but he can’t find it in himself to care. A host of realizations are hitting him at once, and it’s making him slightly nauseous.

For a second, Lloyd had been quiet. He’d been still and unmoving, and he could’ve been dead. Which would have been bad, apparently, for Morro, because Lloyd can’t die. Because if Lloyd dies, then Morro won’t have a pint-sized blond cousin to yell all the angsty stuff out with, and if Lloyd dies then who’s gonna drag him out of his self-induced isolating depression and make him try gross food and break the law and actually interact in the world? Morro can’t lose that. Lloyd’s the only person who’s genuinely made Morro feel like a person, he can’t go die before Morro makes at least some attempt to apologize for being horrible in general to him.

It clicks, finally, like getting hit in the face with the blunt end of a shovel. Morro is, without a doubt, terrified of the idea of losing Lloyd. Oh no. Oh, this is awful. Because if Morro’s scared of losing Lloyd, that must mean—

“Aw, you do care,” Lloyd croaks, his voice watery.

Morro, soaking wet and holding the one person he’s wanted to see dead most like an over-sized teddy bear in need of love, wants to die.

***********

“You tricked me.”

“Huh?”

Morro shakes his head, pulling the edge of his blanket up around his shoulders, shifting on the uncomfortable sidewalk that lines the parking lot. They’re both bundled up in emergency blankets they swiped from the truck, shivering in their wet clothes even as the sun climbs higher in the sky above them.

“You tricked me,” Morro repeats. “You tricked me into tolerating you long enough that I somehow got duped into liking you as a person. You irritated your way into my life.”

Lloyd breathes a laugh, before wincing and pressing his hand to his forehead again. “You should talk to Kai, I did the same thing to him.”

“You dragged him on a road trip from hell, too?” Morro wonders if he’s been too hard on Kai.

“Not exactly,” Lloyd says. “I did get him stuck in a volcano though.”

“Typical,” Morro mutters. “I don’t even have trouble believing that. You’re a menace."

“Aw, c’mon,” Lloyd grins. “Didn’t I hear you saying that you liked me as person?”

Morro bristles. “No,” he says, firmly. “That’s your concussion talking.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “I don’t have concuss— ow, Morro, stop!”

“Huh. Your head isn’t gushing blood, so that’s good,” Morro remarks, pulling his hand away from the back of Lloyd’s head. “That’s still gonna be a bump, though.”

“My hair hides it though, right?” Lloyd’s expression is slightly panicked. “You can’t see it, right?”

“The bump? No.” Morro gestures to Lloyd’s face. “The black eye? Yes.”

“Oh, no.” Lloyd buries his face in his hands. “That’s it, then. I’m toast.”

“Oh, you’re toast,” Morro scoffs. “Kai’s gonna wring my neck.”

Lloyd lifts his face from his hands, shaking his head. “No. I’ll tell him you saved me. That’ll buy you points.”

“Kai’s gonna love that,” Morro snorts.

“Yeah, well.” Lloyd sighs, pulling his blanket around his shoulders. “What’cha gonna do.”

Morro scoffs, pulling his own blanket tighter over his shoulders. The ocean breezes are still a bit chilly with their damp clothes, but the wind is as peaceful as it was earlier, lulling them both into a sleepy kind of haziness. Morro feels disgustingly at peace with the world again, soaking wet and sitting on a sidewalk in the middle of a half-destroyed beach with Lloyd, but he can’t muster up the energy to make himself feel otherwise. Being at peace for five minutes won’t hurt, he reasons.

“By the way, remind me to check the truck before we return it,” Lloyd suddenly says, yawning. “I think I left Kai’s apology present in there.”

Morro frowns. “His what now?”

“Apology present,” Lloyd sighs, scrubbing at his eye. “For putting him through hell.”

“Him?” Morro gapes at Lloyd. “What about me? Where’s my apology gift for getting dragged through hell?”

“Your apology gift is me not hating your guts,” Lloyd huffs, pulling his blanket fully over his hair, like an incredibly ugly veil. “And like, forgiveness and stuff.”

Morro opens his mouth, then abruptly snaps it shut as Lloyd’s words register. He stares at him, feeling a bit dizzy all of the sudden.

“You — what — forgive—?”

“You heard me,” Lloyd yawns again. He perks up, blinking. “Oh, hey, speak of the devil. There they are.”

Morro just catches the familiar hum of Bounty’s engine before the anchor crashes into the parking lot before them, splintering long cracks in the concrete. Lloyd and Morro stare up at the figures on the deck. Morro swallows.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve written up your will, right?” Lloyd gulps.

Morro shakes his head, wordlessly.

Lloyd gives a nervous laugh. “Okay, good. I haven’t either.” He watches in trepidation as a red figure begins sliding down the anchor chain toward them. “Maybe should’ve done that sooner,” he whispers to himself.

***********

Kai doesn’t murder them, but it’s a near thing. In the end, Nya comes nearer to committing homicide, followed closely by Cole.

“Why mine?” he wails, shaking Lloyd by the edges of his blanket the minute Kai hauls them both onto the Bounty. “Why couldn’t you have snatched Jay’s credit card? He’d at least deserve it!”

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd wails back. “I learned my lesson, I promise, I’ll never do it again—”

“For crying out loud,” Nya mutters, watching them both before turning narrowed eyes on Morro. “Well, I was going to murder you, but somehow Lloyd’s still alive.”

Morro’s too tired to even fight back. “He’s like a barnacle,” he says, hazily. “Like — like those parasite things. You let them get to close and you’re stuck for life, those things, you know?”

Nya presses her lips together tightly, but her eyes sparkle in amusement.

“He got you too, huh?” Jay remarks, studying one of the grenade launchers he fished out of the water. “Join the club. Ooh, nice, this has got some real firepower…”

Morro buries his face in his hands. “Just put me out of my misery.”

“Happily,” Kai snaps, his eyes slightly manic from what’s either sleep deprivation or extreme stress. Zane catches him gently, tugging him away from Morro.

“Welcome to the team, I suppose,” Zane tells him, with an easy smile.

Morro groans. He wants to—

Well. He doesn’t exactly want to die. It’s close, but he doesn’t. Not really.

It’s an odd feeling, whatever leaves him off-kilter as he steps below the deck with Lloyd. Maybe that’s just his own sleep deprivation, but still. He snags Lloyd by the elbow before he disappears into his room, and Lloyd pauses, staring curiously at him.

“What you said,” Morro begins, hesitantly. “In the parking lot, about— forgi—that thing.”

Lloyd’s eyes dart to the floor, but he sets his jaw. “That thing. I, uh, yeah. No take backs, right?”

Morro blinks wildly, his tired brain barely able to digest that. “You know you could’ve gotten rid of me out there,” he tries, desperately reaching for sense. “You missed your chance.”

Lloyd meets his eyes again, shaking his head. “Oh, Morro,” he sighs. “Don’t you know the best way to defeat your enemy is to make them your friend?”

Morro stares at him. Lloyd gives him a sharp-teethed grin. “Besides,” he continues. “What’s the point in holding a grudge, when getting you to care about me is much better revenge?”

Morro stiffens. “I don’t care about you,” he protests.

“Nuh-uh, too late now,” Lloyd’s grin widens. “Before you know it, you’ll be calling me cousin. Eating dinner with us. Calling Kai buddy.”

“I would never,” Morro hisses.

Lloyd’s grin is positively sinister. “Oh, you will,” he says. “Because you care now.”

Morro is horrified, truly horrified, to find that saying no to Lloyd’s claim would be a lie. “You’re a monster,” he whispers.

Lloyd smiles brightly. “I’ll see you in practice tomorrow!” he calls cheerfully, before slamming the door in his face.

Morro stares after him blankly, the ugly Oceanworld blanket still hanging limply from his shoulders.

“I hate him,” he finally tells the door, wearily.

Oh, curse everything. Morro can’t even convince himself the door believes him.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #morro #this is so long i'm so sorry #i should probably start just linking these to ao3/ffn #instead of relying on the read more button #but i just!! lots of words!!#can't even write short about morro T-T #my fic

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cleverbxrd · 4 years

Text

When Tim submitted his Patrol Report, he left out the part about his emotional compromise.

His jaw hurt. He was probably still clenching his teeth as he typed and retyped up the note to send to his boss, his ‘dad’, for an impersonal briefing. His ears were covered by rounded, black headphones that deafened any noise of celebration outside, not that Gotham was one for much celebration. (New Years Eve, Calendar Man could be out and about)

The music was supposed to numb his skull, or at least it was an attempt to. He’d experienced the worst of the worst on the grime-covered streets of his hometown, but his heart and his head still ached. It was a dull pain, but it flared every so often, and he wished he’d just stop overthinking. He knew that was impossible, that was his thing, his use. He was the Thinker, the smart one… so, do your thing. With a hefty sigh, his shoulders digging into his desk chair, he closed his eyes, the bass thumping against his brain goading his thoughts to puzzle themselves together as he rationalized what happened, and why he felt so strongly. Sure, he was a piss-poor counselor, but he was a pretty damn good detective.

Check the report. At what time did this happen?

Time was really irrelevant to the bat. You try to live life in the daylight, follow the cape-tails by night’s shadows, you forget where the days end and begin. The numerous restless nights he was prone to staying fully awake for didn’t help much with that either, neither did working on holiday. Tim didn’t mind patrolling New Years Eve, he felt he didn’t have anything better to do. It was either make his rounds or watch on a computer screen how much fun it seemed like the rest of the world was having. He opted to actually do something with his night when he didn’t have to worry about classes in the morning.

Mistake number one.

He was halfway done, circling the shared bay shoreline when he’d gotten the text. It made his heart flutter as the words stretched into his vision, the small heads up display mounted on his white lenses causing more of a distraction than he thought. He’d nearly forgotten he was free-falling, catching himself out of breath from landing hard on rooftop concrete. Conner. Cassie. They were there. He tried not to go, tried to stay away from New York, from the Brooklyn borough, from that warehouse lot decked to the 9s for the turning of the decade (which… in all technicality, it was not.)

Mistake number two.

He’d sat in the shadows, perched high above, scanning the area for familiar faces, heat signatures, anything matching databases he’d had on file. He wasn’t getting anywhere, doubted why he was even there, watching the party goers with the eyes of a hawk.

He lied to his best friend, saying he was still on patrol, saying he’d come out if he found the time to, and of course he believed him. Lying came so easy to him, too easy. He didn’t think about it too much, might scare him. It was part of the job, he couldn’t afford to be 100% truthful. No time to worry about the morality of white lies, just keep thinking about where it started, why it started. Find the source of the feeling.

His memory flashed forward.

Civvies were ridiculously hard to vacuum-pack into a utility belt, but somehow he’d managed to shove a few things from his wardrobe into the small compartments of the crossed belts. It was always just in case, just in case he needed to suddenly become part of the crowd, just in case he needed a change of clothes that wasn’t shredded, just in case he needed to attend a surprise party where his friends were having fun.

Fun, now there was a word. When was the last time he’d been fun? Sometime before the first red and black suit, muddled in there with the green tights and ninja boots. He’d tried to be a mini-Bruce, but the physically youngest, and usually shortest, member of their old team acting like the sternest leader of the League had only caused humor from his teammates. He abhorred it at the time, but thinking back he would give anything for that friendly teasing again, for him to accept it with a smile instead of the nearly trademarked scowl he still wore.

The slightly over-sized sweater covered most of the costume almost perfectly, the cape wrapped tightly around the cinched and belted waist of his Kevlar-spandex suit. It really was the final piece of the puzzle, a disguise over a disguise. Deceit blanketing a lie. So many lies, too many to count, why did he feel like he had to lie so much? To Him? To Himself?

He’d only go in for a moment, only stay and say hello to the people he knew and leave before people noticed one of the Wayne sons was there. That was the plan, and he wanted to stick to it. His emotions told him otherwise. He’d been brave enough to come all this way, his subconscious rationalized. He felt something bubble up in his stomach, a smile stretching his pale cheeks as he pulled the cowl off of his overgrown hair. To Hell with it all, it was New Years Eve, if he remembered correctly. They were both there, he was in there. He could confess, get it off of his chest, never have to say another word about it. If his hypothesis was correct, they’d both simply forget about it the next morning, or laugh it off like the bird himself had gotten too wasted to care.

If they didn’t think too hard about it, it could just go away and Tim wouldn’t have to worry about losing his best friends to his infatuation, his desire.

But it wouldn’t be that simple. Not by a long shot.

Mistake. Number. Three.

What a sucker, he’d been. What a fool.

He’d forgotten to note the time, or maybe was too ignorant of it to try to check. He was already numb from sitting alone outside of the festivities, all noise was white noise. He didn’t even notice Cassie, if she was even at her position when he sheepishly wandered in. Immediately, as always, he felt out of place, uncomfortable in his own skin as the world slowed down around him. Rich boy galas were one thing to attend, nearly pinned into a tight tux with a tie that felt like it could choke you the minute you proposed some outlandish idea to the wrong funder. City-wide parties were an entirely new beast, like a Gotham bar on Saturday night with a little less violence and a little more in the population. The drinking seemed to be of the same caliber, he could smell it radiating off some people who passed him by, taking little to no notice of him. He was probably drunk off his ass too, the party boy, Casanova, tail-chaser. Observing the other attendees led him to believe that Conner wouldn’t even remember he was there, or the texts they’d sent just minutes ago. He was about to simply leave and try his Hallmark speech of love some other time when he saw-

The sharp pang in his chest lit like a fire again. Tim nearly doubled over in his chair, clutching at his shirt and gasping for air. Don’t panic, don’t do this. You’re breathing, your heart is beating. You can feel your floor under your feet, the clothes on your back, your face, your hair, you’re still there, still here. Tim found his hands gripping at the raven mess on top of his head, slightly skewing the headphones gripping tight around his ears. He roulette-wheeled through his various breathing meditation techniques and found himself filling his chest with oxygen once more, the faded world around him coming through clearer instead of the molasses he felt like he’d just jumped into. He tried to settle himself back into the chair, slumping further down as his pulse pounded against his ribs, almost like it was trying to run away from the husk it sat inside. He was starting to believe that vital organ was more of a nuisance for rattling his core.

Don’t focus on that, you need a distraction. Remember the night. You’re a Detective. Start asking questions.

What happened?

I don’t...I don’t want to talk about it.

When did it happen?

New Years Eve. Stroke of midnight. It’s all in the briefing, you wrote it.

Who was there?

Probably half of the population of New York City. And Him.

He’s important to you.

You don’t get to tell me what I already know. Keep digging.

Your memory stopped at a particular moment. How did that moment make you feel?

He slingshot himself back into the exact frame, frozen in time, zeroed in through a telescopic lens. How did he feel? It was such a simple question, but the answers sat brewing in his head before he could find the names.

Name the first feeling. Now!

Anger.

At Conner? Never, not truly. He’d get annoying, but at a point it had become almost charming. At himself? Of course, he was always angry at himself in one capacity or another. Tim was far from a perfectionist, but a people pleaser he certainly was. The need for approval always egged him on, even if he didn’t want to admit it. When he’d given arm and leg without any hint of positive effect, it brought him down. He was too smart not to recognize his own faults, he couldn’t afford to look at himself as perfect. Quite the opposite actually.

Damn. You’re good.

I know, keep looking. Name another one.

Remorse.

He didn’t say anything sooner. Maybe he’d be there earlier, snagged that picturesque moment for the few seconds he’d bore witness to it. Why did that matter? A strange tangent from his current thought process, his usual pinched thinking face further pointing into a tight squint. He thought they were looking for a feeling, a clue to this confusing panic he was putting himself in. But… why did it matter?

Keep. Looking.

Sadness.

It caked every bone in his scrawny little body, soaked into the trained muscles that he hid from his non-heroic acquaintances. He’d been sad for a long time, and he blamed no one but himself. The lingering tears that always dared to fall at a moments notice, the silent sobs he wished he could give sound to, the will seeping away as he would give into what felt like his whole core. There was a word for that, something any normal psychologist would smack him with until he exhausted his resources. Tim knew he was depressed, knew it wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and he didn’t need a therapist telling him over and over again. He just needed to talk, they’d say, about the trauma. They wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand. What was the fucking point? Regardless, something that rooted couldn’t have just popped up so suddenly.

Dig deeper. What are you feeling now?

Things.

Be specific, damn it. You were before, don’t shut down on me.

Bad things.

Bad… the word echoed as his all of his mental visuals faded away. They were replaced by a flurry of clues, piecing together strange mental ‘evidence’ that somehow was his key to cracking his head case. He sat bolt upright, his eyes wide as he stared at his glowing computer screen, his mind’s eye making a cork-board with red rope, not too dissimilar to his walls in the dark room he was sitting in. One by one, the items tacked themselves in random orders, random places.

A question mark, a bloodstained cloak, neon signs, tights and gloves, pixie boots and scaly spandex, hair that flew away from a sickening smile as if the locks themselves were scared of its owner, an alien’s toxic rock. It hit him like a brick.

Green. Envy. Jealousy.

How could he not have seen it immediately?

Jealousy.

The same fire that festered in the pit of his stomach when the title he used to wear like a badge of honor was given without question to the ‘true blood son’. The same stabbing coolness when blue birds were let loose to fly free and he was caged for the mishaps of the past. The same rope, choking his words when he sees what he thinks are shattered hopes of something finally good in his Roman Tragedy play of a life.

A shocked breath comes out in a staccato heave, hands losing their grips on arm rests and hanging limp as the realization washed over him like a sign from some god out there somewhere. “Of. Fucking. Course.” The words came out of his throat slow and hoarse, and they almost surprised him. He’d nearly forgotten how to speak over the blare of noise in his ears.

Timothy Jackson Drake, you’re a selfish, jealous bastard.

Another groaning exhale, and he brought his limp frame back to sitting up again, an impulsive urge to throw his head through his keyboard growing stronger by the ticking seconds. Emotions running wild were bad, very bad. It jeopardized the Mission, that’s what he was told. It’s what got him into this mess, every mess, in the first place, basing things on emotions. Somehow, giving names to them all didn’t make it better, and he felt his stomach drop again.

So, Detective, you’ve found a conclusion.

A diagnosis / analysis .

What do you suppose we do about this?

Turn into a robot.

Negatory.

Turn someone else into a robot.

Double negatory.

An audible sigh, brows knitting together as he started to get annoyed with himself. One hand floated up to press under the messy locks falling at his temples, the screaming in his ears nearly matching volume with what he felt in his chest. Shutting his mind out for a moment, he carefully listened to the sounds actually coming through the headphones. He’d thrown on a shuffle, his own mind-melting playlists that bombard his senses with overblown guitar rifs and rapid drum beats. Okay, they usually numb him out. What was he even on?

Oh. Of course.

He nearly smacked the cold coffee mug off the desk, throwing his hands on top of his face and rocking back yet again with a muffled scream. Back again, a pendulum in a clock, he caught his reflection in the screen. Dark circles made a mask around his icy eyes, a second mask to hide the horror he had become. Catching himself staring back was shocking, but he was transfixed and couldn’t move. When was the last time he really took a look at himself? And why the hell did it have to be over something as stupid as a kiss? He found his hand tracing the almost domino-shaped outline, wondering if it was a trick of the dim light, or possibly residual gunk from under the cowl. He could hope for the best possible outcome, but hope was yet again his downfall. Permanent. Dark. Hard as he tried, his thoughts and the mask just wouldn’t go away.

Another breath. Root. You’re solid. He’s solid. His feet planted on the ground as he pushed up and away from the desk, stumbling to the discarded costume on one of the mess piles. Specific mess piles, weakly placed where could find things in seconds regardless of the disaster it seemed (that sounded familiar…). Alfred, neat freak of a butler he was, wouldn’t dare disturb Tim’s organized chaos. This room was like a safe cell for Tim, and he was an adult damnit, he could make as much of a mess as he wanted. He dug one hand under the lazily thrown cape, finding the smooth metal of the collapsed staff just where he’d left it, and it felt surprisingly light in uncovered hands. Unlatching it from the bandoleers splayed out like spider legs, he tossed the short tube around until it landed firmly in his left palm. His knuckles stretched white as his grip tightened. A lifeline, a grounding wire.

Tim ripped the headphones off of his head, tossing them haphazardly on his desk. He hit delete, omitting nearly an entire 30 minutes of time in his notes he was just going to blame on travel time. Bruce would have to believe that, especially if he’d ceased radio signals the minute he’d stalked the event. He sent the page away, encrypted thrice and swinging through two secure data waves just for safe-keeping. He may be out of his goddamn mind and feeling things out his ass, but he knew better than to send anything to the big data store without preparing for any intercepting forces. He stalked out of his personal cave and wandered into the other one, the bigger one set under the manor, as deep and dark as the nearly permanent markings under his exhausted lids. It was big enough to make any super man feel small, maybe a super boy even smaller. His feet hit the training deck without him really noticing where he was, a faceless body facing him and his trustworthy staff.

The familiar, echoing clicks with the smallest flick of his wrist was too satisfying to say. He situated himself against the motionless statue, a one sided versus match. He wasn’t going for grace, he wasn’t going for style, and he certainly wasn’t going for finesse. He was going to channel his muddled emotions into one. Build the pressure and release, the extended staff a vessel for the pain he felt clawing at him inside. A release valve, a bomb fuse.

No faces, no names, no underlying motive.

Make it brainless, give yourself a break, give way to the horrible things you could do and focus them on one, non-harmful target.

Just hit shit.

#depressive thoughts tw #self diagnosis tw #violent thoughts tw #//if i miss any please lmk its just... a lot #//also fuck your 3k club :PPPP #「He’s not listening. He’s off in macholand.」- Self Para #★#✯

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theblueskyphoenix · 5 years

Text

Grid Ghost Chapter 2: Down and Out

Obake was doing his best to keep himself from falling over. He only had another block or so to go before he reached his destination. He could taste copper in his mouth.

Never a good sign.

His steps were staggering, his vision flickering but he kept pushing till he was finally through a set of doors. Soon as he passed through, he let himself fall to the floor, his eyes sliding shut.

Before he blacked out entirely, he could hear people coming towards him. Their voices had a slight panic to them yet they were mostly calm.

The last thing he could hear clearly was someone shouting:

“Get him on a stretcher and have an OR on standby!”

I’ll leave the rest to you, now.

Please, don’t kill me.

oooooo

Dr. Shaylin Sky was used to crazy.

When you sign up to be a doctor, it was a given that anything could possibly go wrong and anything could possibly happen during a shift at a hospital and you just had to learn to roll with it and not question things.

Though sometimes she wished nights could be quieter. Especially when she was about to head home.

It had been a long day of appointments and assisting surgeons in surgery and trying to get the hospital back in proper working order after everything went to heck with concerns of the city being destroyed by a star that seemed to come out of nowhere.

And now… she had an unconscious man she was rushing to an OR after exams had revealed he was suffering massive amounts of internal bleeding in the abdominal region.

Along with something else that was definitely not normal but I don’t got time for that. Treat and stabilize now, ask questions later.

As soon as the man was in the OR she quickly scrubbed in before joining in on the procedure.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home?” The surgeon asked as he started to make incisions into the affected areas. “And is a blood transfusion on the way?”

“I would be, Leon, but I had a man pass out on the floor in front of me and you know I don’t like dropping a patient and running, even if I’m supposed to be gone by now and yes, I got the boys looking through our O- stash as we speak.

"Devoted as ever and good, because he’s losing a lot and fast.” Leon narrowed his eyes. “What the heck did he do to himself? Throw himself off a building?”

“Doubt it, considering the only broken bones I saw in the scans were a couple of ribs. If he had been thrown off a building there would be a lot more broken. Though with the bruises he’s got on him he certainly had something rough happen be it a landing or a fight. Just not sure what.”

“Questions we can ask him once he’s stable and awake. Clamps, please.”

Shaylin handed Leon on the tool in question.

“Oh, trust me, I got a LOT of questions for this guy once he’s conscious and lucid.”

“That’s an omen.” Leon looked to Shaylin with some concern. “See something of interest in your exam?”

“Nothing harmful… I think but it was… definitely of interest.”

“Wanna enlighten me?”

“Drain blood and fix injuries first, then I’ll tell you.”

“Very well.” Leon eyed the man’s face before getting back to work. “Though, gotta say, it’s a miracle he made it here on his own. You said he stumbled on in?”

“Yeah. Again, not sure what the story is but I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”

And I get the feeling it’s going to be a weird one.

oooooo

For Obake, it had only been a few minutes between when he had blacked out to when he was waking up again. He knew it had certainly been longer than a few minutes he just wasn’t sure how much longer.

As he opened his eyes, he could hear the faint sounds of a heart monitor beeping and the dripping of an IV bag.

Those are sounds that bring back memories…

“Just a little longer, Bob. You’re almost done.”

“Just a few more drops then we can go home and watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together like you promised, Daddy! You can do it!”

For a moment, he was back in that treatment bed again, his daughter holding his hand while his wife monitored his vitals. He could see a young Trina smiling at him, hopefulness in her light blue eyes as she helped keep him comfortable.

It all quickly faded as a voice broke the illusion, revealing he was in an ICU room with a woman he didn’t recognize.

The woman appeared to be of latina descent with tan skin and light brown hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail. She had a look of concern in her deep blue eyes. Judging from the lab coat and ID tag she had hanging around her neck, she was most likely a doctor.

He squinted his eyes to read the name on the ID tag.

“Dr. Shaylin Sky”

“With me?” she asked.

“More or less.” He said, practically whispered. He cringed, bringing a hand to his abdomen. “What happened…?”

“You collapsed in our ER bay. You were rushed in for emergency surgery after some quick tests. You had a couple of broken ribs and massive internal bleeding in the abdominal region due to damage done to various organs. All of it was treated and you’re stable now and are on strict bed rest till further notice.”

“I see… perfect.” Obake sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Anything else I need to know about in regards to injuries?”

“No… More so I need to know about something.”

Obake looked to Shaylin, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Shaylin crossed her arms.

“You got an interesting looking implant on the left side of your skull… and a pretty nicely sized tumor to boot. I doubt those are things you don’t know about. Care to explain?”

Obake glanced to the side.

“… I have to ask a question before I can answer anything in regards to those two things. Are you associated with Sycorax or Liv Amara?”

Shaylin gave a disgusted look.

“The day I associate with that woman or her company is the day I resign from being a doctor. No offense to her and her work but I don’t like her attitude. She’s just…. condescending and sometimes has no regards for morality… It's… a long story. Either way, no, I am not associated with her, nor is this particular hospital. They’re not rich enough for her. Who wants to know?”

Obake let out another sigh.

“Bob Aken wants to know, that’s who.”

Shaylin’s eyes widened at this, though kept her composure.

“Go on.”

Obake closed his eyes.

“I’ve had this tumor in my head since I was 15 years old that manifested due to a rather unfortunate accident with an experiment. It was managed with chemo treatments for the longest time till around last year when someone came in, claiming they could help me. This someone being Liv Amara.” Obake opened his eyes, his implant letting off a glow for a second. “This implant was supposed to cure me… when it all it did was make things worse.” His eyes narrowed. “She took everything from me that day I entered her operating room doors… all with a simple series of shocks.”

“Your family is none of your concern anymore, Obake. Your concern is making your mark on San Fransokyo. To be remembered as a legend.”

Obake was panting, grabbing at the table as electricity pulsed through his mind.

“Ngh! No! Kim… Trina… I… Gck! I need to…”

“Shhhh…” Liv brought a hand to his cheek again, stroking it with her thumb. “They’re not here anymore… It’s just you, Obake. You’re alone. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Think of all you can do. No limits whatsoever. You can be the genius you longed to be. You can make great accomplishments. You can make Grace regret ever abandoning you in your time of need. You can make her wish she had never given up on you.”

“I… I….” Obake’s pupils dilated. “I could be… remembered by all…”

“That’s right.” Liv smiled. “You just have to do exactly as I tell you. There’s no Bob Aken anymore. There is only Obake. A ghost. But soon to be remembered and revered by all.”

“Remembered… and revered by all.”

Obake grabbed at the blankets of his bed, lowering his head.

“I haven’t been in my right mind for awhile now… and I want it to stop. And I only know one person I could trust with my head.” Obake looked at Shaylin. “Do you know Dr. Kim Aken?”

Shaylin nodded.

“I do. She’s a dear friend of mine… who has been dearly missing her husband who disappeared around last year.” Shaylin’s look turned gentle. “And it seems he’s finally been found.”

Obake nodded.

“Can you get me to her? And do you have my things? There’s some important equipment in that backpack I came in with along with the USB I had around my neck.”

“Yes and yes. I have your possessions in my office for safekeeping and I can contact Kim’s hospital right away and have you transferred.”

“Thank you… Where is she at, by the way?”

“Saga Regional Hospital.”

Home…

“Good… I want to get away from this city for a bit.” Obake leaned back into his pillow. “Too much crime and too much noise.”

Shaylin chuckled.

“Kim said the same thing.” She gave a small smile. “You know, she never stopped looking for you. Even came here for a bit with her daughter in hopes they’d find you. They’re going to be so happy when they see you.”

“Maybe… though I’m expecting irritation considering my current state.”

And telling them what I’ve been doing for the past year. That’s going to be fun.

“Possibly. Kim’s more level headed than I am. If you were my husband you would’ve gotten a slight pow pow.”

“And a sandal?”

“That’s la chancla to you, mister.”

“Nuance.”

Shaylin rolled her eyes, getting up from her chair.

“I’ll go make some calls then. Can I get you anything?”

Obake gave a small smirk.

“I have a blueberry scone in a tupperware in that backpack of mine. I’d like to eat it now, please.”

Shaylin smirked, shaking her head.

“You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it as you are so, patience on that one.”

“Oh, come now, I know how to eat slow.”

“Eat it when you don’t have a tumor the size of a ping pong ball suppressing your right from wrong junction.”

Shaylin left without another word.

Obake gave a flat look, plopping his head into his pillow.

It’s called the temporo-parietal junction, plebeian.

… And it’s not the size of a ping pong ball!

#big hero 6 #big hero six #bh6 #big hero 6 the series #big hero six the series #bh6 the series #big hero 6 obake #big hero six obake #bh6 obake #big hero 6 oc #big hero six oc #bh6 oc #shaylin sky #grid ghost #fanfic #fanfiction

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impracticaldemon · 6 years

Text

The Dragon and the Kitsune

by impractidemon (Ikemen Sengoku fandom) Words: ~ 3800 Also on: AO3 | FFnet

Art by and story for @taiyaki-boy who has drawn me wonderful Ikesen art! You are a gem and your art deserves lots of love! ♥

** I must apologize for how long this took, but (a) keyboard woes; (b) my planned drabble turned into 3700+ words; and (c) it took a turn for the (mostly) more serious when I really, truly meant to write more of a romp. **

Behind the scenes with Masamune and Mitsuhide. They're both perceptive, they tend to understand each other better than most, and they're both intrigued by the same woman. Thoughts, scenes, and conversations that *might have been* in the original story. Rated M for one passage featuring sexual themes / behaviour (moderately explicit). Strongly implied Masamune-Chatelaine.

The Dragon and The Kitsune

“How is she today?” They'd been watching the foot soldiers drill, but Mitsuhide had deftly slid the question into their conversation about new recruits and training techniques.

Usually too wily a dragon to be caught off-guard by such tactics, Masamune had found himself answering the question. That in itself told him a lot about his preoccupation with the new chatelaine-seamstress of Azuchi Castle. She was obviously getting to him, even if he wasn’t quite sure why.

“She’s fine, as far as I know. She’s still avoiding me.”

“Oh? I wonder why she would do that?”

If Mitsunari had asked the question, it would have indicated sincere confusion. Mitsuhide was an entirely different matter. They’d been friends for a few years now—if friends was the right term—and Masamune knew every twitch of those mobile brows, and every nuance of that persuasive, sometimes amused, often sarcastic voice. Mitsuhide already knew, or guessed, the answer to the question. After all, Masamune had chosen to talk to Mitsuhide about what had happened during Sanada Yukimura’s escape, and the lass’ strange behaviour and reactions.

Others would question his choice of confidante, no doubt, but Masamune preferred Mitsuhide’s sly truths and omissions to the polite lies of others. He was a fox—though the townsfolk used the term kitsune in the superstitious, quasi-malicious sense—and it took work to follow his quicksilver mind and slippery words. That said, he saw things for what they were, and Masamune respected that.

“…Are we friends, Mitsuhide?” He was changing the topic, but now that the question had occurred to him, he was curious.

For once, the man appeared to be caught off guard. His unusual golden eyes widened perceptibly, and his pale eyebrows arched.

“What an odd question, especially from you.”

Masamune recognized temporizing when he heard it, but Mitsuhide was right. It was unusual for him to want to go beneath the surface of a relationship. After all, as he’d recently told their lovely chatelaine, in these troubled times, people changed sides, allies became enemies overnight, and regardless, death walked with you every step of the way—you never knew who you would lose, or when. Or how. Sometimes it would be your own doing.

“I think we’re friends,” he told Mitsuhide firmly. “Nobunaga keeps his own counsel about why and how far he trusts you, but despite the way you try to trick me into drinking sake at every reasonable opportunity, I think we understand and value each other. That’s good enough for me.”

“What a fey mood you’re in! Honestly, Masamune, you warm my shrivelled heart with your words.”

“Sounds like it needs watering, not warming! And don’t worry, I don’t expect a real answer out of you.”

“…Well, that’s good. I was beginning to think I should check you for a fever or something. Though I suppose that friends is as good a description as any. You’re far more perceptive than you appear, which is irritating at times, but the fact that you’re virtually impervious to barbs and sarcasm is occasionally something of a relief. I admire strength, and respect openness—in others, of course.”

Masamune let the words roll off him, listening instead for the undercurrent that told him that Mitsuhide also perceived this relationship of equals that they had, and appreciated it. Masamune was among the very few who noticed things about Mitsuhide the person. For one thing, he’d learned a lot over the course of his long—and so far, losing—battle to feed the man decently. Moreover, Mitsuhide didn’t intimidate him with his apparently all-knowing cynicism, nor did Masamune exasperate Mitsuhide with his so-called recklessness. For as long as they weren’t enemies, they would most likely look out for each other, if not always in the most obvious ways. He wondered whether the lass would consider them friends, and wasn’t sure.

“She doesn’t know what to make of us, Masamune,” Mitsuhide told him, his characteristic, razor-edged smile back in place. He had a bad habit of answering unspoken questions.

“…No, not yet, but she wants to. Sometimes she runs away, or tries not to look, but I think she truly wants to know what makes us tick.”

“I know. But do you want to try to understand her? You said you did, but I’m not convinced.”

He probably hadn’t tried hard enough, Masamune acknowledged silently. The woman’s views were just so impossible—so wrong-headed, from the point of view of survival. And yet… A hand clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Enough brooding, Masamune! It sits poorly on you. For whatever it’s worth, I think you’ve found an interesting woman for once.”

He ignored the implication about the very ordinary nature of his past dalliances. “Interesting? Yes, but frustrating! She’ll get herself killed for nothing!”

“And you’ll mourn her passing, acknowledge her courage, and then move on, right Dragon?”

Masamune stared at his pale-haired probably-friend. “Yes, of course.” Was that a note of uncertainty in his own voice?

“You just don’t want her to die in a wasteful, ignorant kind of way, correct? Her death in and of itself is not—cannot be—of particular concern.” Mitsuhide assumed an understanding expression that didn’t deceive his companion for a minute; Masamune knew damn well that he was being prodded unmercifully, although toward what end wasn’t clear to him. He decided that he wasn’t in the mood to either counter—or simply ignore—Mitsuhide’s loaded comments.

“I don’t want anybody to die except my enemies,” he snapped, realizing at once that his uncharacteristic ill-temper was bound to amuse Mitsuhide even further. To his surprise, the expected jibe didn’t come. Instead, Mitsuhide seemed thoughtful.

“She is an odd woman, our chatelaine. She gets frightened, but that often drives her to fierce action. She’s naïve to an unbelievable degree, but not stupid. She’s ignorant of the strangest things, and then—did you hear that she immediately recognized Nobunaga’s short rifle—his new gun? I found that odd, given that none of the rest of us had seen such a thing before.”

Masamune smirked at him. “Well, there’s no secret to that, is there? I’m told that she said from the start that she was from five hundred years in the future.”

Mitsuhide regarded him thoughtfully. “You heard about that, did you? And believed it? I thought I was the only one who had given it any real consideration.”

“After she claimed it for the truth to my face—“

“So you drew on her, did you?”

“—I saw no reason to doubt her, and besides, why not go with it? But just because I believe her doesn’t mean I understand her. A unified, peaceful country—well, that’s a dream many of us share. But she’s lived it, and it’s given her expectations of the world that make no sense in the here and now.”

“Poor Dragon. She won’t adapt and let go of her ideals, and if she doesn’t adapt then she may die.”

It was as simple as that; Mitsuhide was right. But why did he care? So, she wouldn’t share his bed, and she wouldn’t kiss him again. Well, there were others, even if they weren’t as interesting. He felt Mitsuhide’s eyes on him and forced a shrug.

“Point is, I don’t like it when people don’t do the best they can with what they’ve got. There’s no good reason for her to keep acting the way she does. Facts are facts, and she needs to get a grip and start living in the present—not the future.”

“Says the man who won’t compromise his ideals for anything, beginning with his own life.”

There was a longish silence after that, and Masamune saw the bridge to the castle up ahead with something like relief. Still, in justice to the lass he had to add one last thing:

“She does have ideals, and rules—too damn many of them, to be honest! But she acts on what she believes to be right, I have to give her that.”

“Indeed. The lady is nothing if not stubborn verging on reckless—a little like somebody else I know. I believe Ieyasu has already commented on the resemblance.” Mitsuhide paused before parting from Masamune. “She’s very attractive, isn’t she?” he noted, almost conversationally. “Not just pretty—or even beautiful—but something more. I doubt you’ll find your usual playmates as enticing as they once were.” The golden eyes gleamed. “Is cute and willing still enough for you, I wonder?”

Masamune wondered too, as Mitsuhide strode away. It wouldn’t be the same, that was certain. He hadn’t meant anything by their kiss by the lake—or no more than genuine, friendly interest. But it had been a surprisingly exciting kiss, and most of the women he’d known were considerably more—he searched for the right word—passive in comparison. There was nothing passive about the lass. He felt heat rise unbidden and unexpected in his cheeks and neck; felt the sharp excitement of desire as muscles tightened in his abdomen and lower still. He couldn’t make the commitment she seemed to think was necessary before sharing a bed—another of her rules!—but she was attracted to him, and they enjoyed each other’s company. Or they had, before the run-in with Sanada and the ninja. Well, he still liked her—enough to want to fix things between them, and despite the way she had protected her ninja friend at the cost of who-knew how many Oda lives on the battlefield later.

Would she ever welcome his touch again? That was the question. He could tell that he’d shocked her badly, but he’d only been doing what duty and honour required of him. His people depended on him, and he owed it to them not to falter, regardless of personal cost. Sanada Yukimura and one of Takeda’s—or Uesugi’s—ninja! He should never have let them escape.

But you did. I wonder why? That’s what Mitsuhide had never asked directly, but was no doubt thinking. Masamune had no clear answer, and it troubled him. What had stopped him from simply going through the lass to get to his enemies? And why was he so bothered that she now shunned his touch?

The maidservant who had brought him water and towels before the war council had been more than happy to be flattered and cuddled. She’d blushed a little when he’d kissed her, but hadn’t been unduly timid. Masamune didn’t take advantage of innocents, nor did he persist in attentions that weren’t welcome. For one thing, it would be a contemptible use of power, and he took such things seriously. For another, it wasn’t necessary. There were willing lovers enough in Azuchi, and if some were more attracted by status or coin than by lust, then so be it.

Unfortunately, Mitsuhide was right, as usual. The brief interlude with the maid had left him dissatisfied in a way that he couldn’t identify, but keenly felt. When the young woman had paused at the door and fleetingly met his eyes, before respectfully bowing herself out, he’d registered the unspoken invitation, but had felt no inclination to accept. He couldn’t ignore the fact that desire for Azuchi Castle’s unusual chatelaine had somehow displaced his easy acceptance of more readily attainable pleasure. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one he’d thought relegated to his mid-teens, when he’d learned the hard way that preference always came second to duty, so that it was best not to tie one’s happiness to any particular lover.

Unsettled in mind, and frustrated in body, he’d attended that evening’s war council and done his best to throw himself into preparations for the upcoming clash with the Uesugi-Takeda forces. That had been reasonably successful, since the danger was both real and imminent, and the prospects exciting. And yet… he missed the lass’ smile, and the way that her eyes would scan the room looking for him whenever she was ordered to join them before Nobunaga.

“I’d offer you sake, but you wouldn’t accept,” Mitsuhide told him after the meeting, the mild humour in his voice not reflected in his sharp eyes. “Perhaps the lass has bewitched you?”

“Damn right I wouldn’t accept!” Masamune glared at his friend for a moment and then banished his temper with an effort. Another early, hard-learned lesson was how to rein himself in at need—which would likely surprise the majority of the Oda forces. Of course, Masamune defined “need” differently than most. At the same time, Mitsuhide was rarely surprised by anything—that he showed—and that went double for Nobunaga, who had been keeping an eye on the Date clan for years.

“Witchery it is, then,” murmured Mitsuhide.

“You would know,” Masamune replied, with a mischievous grin. In a thoughtful voice belied by the sparkle in his one blue eye, he added, “And not just about enchantments, either, kitsune—I’m not so sure that your own interest in the lass is as innocent as you’d have me think.”

The half-lidded golden eyes shifted to his face for an instant, but otherwise the other man was his usual self.

“My interest in people is rarely innocent, Masamune—you know that.”

“Say what you like,” Masamune told him blithely. “It won’t change my opinion.”

Mitsuhide shrugged gracefully. “Very little does, Dragon. That’s part of your problem.”

They parted ways on that note, and Masamune’s improved mood seemed to evaporate. He worked late on paperwork—both for his distant, north-eastern fief, and concerning the coming war—and then flung himself into bed, exhausted. His mind strayed to that moment by the lake, when he had kissed her, and she had undeniably, unreservedly, kissed him back. The image was overlaid by the angry, scared, loathing look she had given him after the matter of Sanada Yukimura and the unknown ninja, but lust overtook and banished it, to his sleepy relief.

Her lips parted for him, and he twined his tongue in hers, before kissing her ever more deeply. Her eyes were mostly closed, and her cheeks were flushed. The soft sounds she was making were as beautiful and arousing as she was. He could feel her soft breasts under him, as he pressed closer, tasting and exploring each part of her mouth, indifferent to wet clothes. Perhaps tonight… They were too exposed here, as pleasant as this was. He could tell that she would mind if they were found, and besides, he found himself oddly possessive of the way she looked just now.

Time passed in a blur, which was unusual, since it tended to crawl along when he was looking forward to something. Ieyasu had insisted on having the lass ride with him back to the castle, and while his stated reason—that she would be warmer with him—made sense, Masamune had known there was more to it than that. But the man had brought his sword and his horse, and his concern had been evident. Besides, Ieyasu wasn’t a true rival for the lass’ affections. Not that he discounted the lad, but the young contrarian was too late.

She laughed at his attempt to disguise her voice, when he finally had time to stop by her room. They both laughed… And then—and then? She looked just as lovely in the lantern-light as she had under the bright sun, but he could sense hesitation. No... that couldn't be right. Fortunately, when he drew her into his arms, pulling her slim curves tight against his body, she’d relaxed, and smiled up at him.

He caressed the dip of her waist and then the roundness of her hip, and first nuzzled, and then nipped at her left ear. Her reaction was immediate, and gratifying. Her soft moan as his teeth and tongue moved down the smooth column of her throat, biting and teasing, stirred the same, heated arousal in him as he’d felt by the lake, but this time there was no reason to hold back. Her skin was hot, and her breathing shallow; it was clear that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He wound one hand in her pretty hair and slid the other down her back and over her ass. She reciprocated by twisting against him and then dragging his mouth onto hers.

By the time he bore her down onto her futon, he’d stripped her of her obi and kimono, so that only the thin under-kimono still hung around her shoulders. She’d managed to remove most of his clothing as well, and their sweat-dampened skin clung together. Now that he lay above her, he could feel how wet she was and how ready… Their bruised lips met again, and then he shifted lower, so that he could kiss and suckle the taught nipples of her breasts, and stroke the slick folds between her legs. She gasped his name, and her fingers tightened in his hair. He loved the way that she showed him all of her—not just her body, but her unambiguous reactions to his touch, and her passion… He must have imagined the earlier hesitation.

He’d meant to bring her to the very edge of bliss well before reaching his own limit, but that was suddenly, unaccountably, beyond his control. He found himself grinding his stiff cock hard against her, and her face blurred as he lost focus and realized that he was about to come, and couldn’t stop. Even through the shuddering pleasure of release, even as his hot seed spurted and spilled from him, he knew… he knew… he was...

He was alone. Alone in his futon, and alone in the dark of his own room, sweating from heat, and sticky and flushed from still-vivid, if ephemeral passion. The thrumming pulse of climax was instantly dimmed by a rush of the old panic, the one that he did his best to hide from everyone, even himself whenever possible. Breathing hard, he battled his beleaguered mind and body into submission, reminding himself again and again that he hadn’t killed the lass—no matter how tactically unsound the decision—reminding himself that she was alive, and warm, and breathing, even if she wasn’t here with him now.

It took a long time to master himself completely—to gain enough perspective to shake his head ruefully over the dream, and to shove his nightmare back under lock and key. The first wasn’t so bad—such dreams happened, and there was nothing surprising about this one, despite its intensity. He would shed any lingering embarrassment over it soon enough, having decided long ago not to be embarrassed about giving or receiving—or feeling—pleasure. The nightmare was a different matter, and it wasn’t until near dawn that he was able to overcome the fear that she was dead and cold and gone for good. He knew the probable cause for these occasional fits of mad panic, but the past was the past, and both duty and inclination led him to focus on the future.

What he needed now was a short bath, fresh clothes, and the chance to get out and do something productive. And food, of course. By the time that the sun crested the horizon, Masamune was on his way to the castle to tell Nobunaga that he was off to inspect the scout force—mostly his own men—stationed in the forest directly between Azuchi and the Uesugi-Takeda army.

When Mitsuhide heard from Nobunaga that Masamune had left ‘on a whim’—Hideyoshi’s words, of course—he wasn’t surprised. Interestingly, their dear chatelaine seemed rather relieved by Masamune’s absence; however, careful observation suggested that she was in no way over the man, merely shaken and unsure what to do next.

After a little thought, Mitsuhide decided to try to nudge matters along himself, should a suitable opportunity arise. For one thing, it would be moderately entertaining. For another, the woman hadn’t managed a proper smile in days, and that was starting to weigh heavily on the more susceptible of the Oda commanders. Hideyoshi’s stress was reaching new highs, Ieyasu was being even more disagreeable than usual, and Mitsunari had unaccountably—and wholly inadvertently—made drinkable tea for everyone during the most recent war council. It was inevitable that, in the confusion, much of it had ended up on Ieyasu, who had stalked off in uncontrolled disgust.

In any event, when word came back two days later that Masamune and his scouts had been involved in a skirmish with the enemy, and needed extra hands to tend the wounded, Mitsuhide had ignored or overridden her protests, and all but ordered Azuchi’s chatelaine to go to their aid. She hadn’t been happy about it, but she’d yielded to persuasion (and carefully applied guilt) and gone. Hideyoshi had lost his temper when he’d found out, but by then it couldn’t be helped, and Nobunaga had merely looked thoughtfully at Mitsuhide before ordering the war council to resume. If enemy forces—even advance scouts—were so close to Azuchi, then Uesugi Kenshin and Takeda Shingen were about to get serious.

“Not knowing Kennyo’s location is going to be a problem,” murmured Mitsunari, his expression more sombre than usual.

“We’re close,” Mitsuhide replied. It was the simple truth. While he couldn’t pinpoint the place exactly, it wouldn’t be long. Mitsunari was correct about the danger, however. If they couldn’t find and crush Kennyo before leaving for the main conflict, they’d most likely have to split their forces.

Before Mitsunari could become flustered by the thought of having implied some sort of negligence on Mitsuhide’s part, Nobunaga leaned forward, and all eyes turned to him.

“Will you find him in time, Mitsuhide?” The deep voice held no anxiety. Whatever the answer, Oda Nobunaga would plan accordingly.

Mitsuhide responded with equal calm: “We’ll find him before we face the Uesugi-Takeda. It is not yet certain that we’ll find him in time to crush his forces and still have our full army ready for the more difficult battle.”

“I see.”

The council concluded late, and Mitsuhide returned to his meticulous search for the missing monk. However, despite all that was going on, he found his thoughts returning to Masamune and the woman they both considered ‘interesting’. Would the Dragon make another effort to understand her? Would she give him the chance to do so? Mitsuhide turned a mocking smile on himself. It would have been easier to contemplate had he truly felt the detachment that he feigned

[END]

A/Note:

I will have to write more another time! My plans to go onto the happy (eventual) resolution, at least from Masamune’s point of view, got put on hold by a wonky keyboard and the way so-called real life has been behaving! Still, I hope you enjoyed this peek behind the strictly canonical scenes.

@acrispyapple @nalufever @flower-dragon @shell-senji @eliz1369

@fic-writer-appreciation

#ikesen #ikesen fanfic #date masamune #akechi mitsuhide #imp writes #masamune x chatelaine #meant to be brotp and fluff #will try for fluff next time promise!

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pizza-is-my-buziness · 7 years

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Okay so this one kinda turned into “5 times the team noticed them holding hands when they didn’t think there was anyone around”...if that makes sense?

Also featuring a human Ophelia because I’m trash?

It's late and Piper's tired but her mind is so wired, the way it's been practically since she joined SHIELD but especially since becoming a part of Coulson's team. Honestly there are times where she thinks that if she'd known ahead of time how much this job was going to screw up her sleeping schedule she never would have signed on. They never mentioned Inhumans or killer robots or being on the run from angry government officials when she'd been at the Academy.

Midnight trips around the base, especially to the kitchen, have become a part of her routine. The walking helps; the movement of her muscles helps to unwind her mind and leave her much more successful when she crawls back into bed. Stealing a little bit of chocolate from the kitchen? Yeah, that helps too.

Piper has grown used to this new base in the dark; any good agent would know to avoid the creaking floors, the weak spots that would signal her arrival. She steps around them easily and before she can step into the kitchen, she notices something else: the low murmur of voices from inside the kitchen.

Instantly, Piper stops, tensing. After the weeks she's had recently, she figures no one could blame her for suddenly being on the alert, ready to defend herself from whoever might be lurking in the shadows.

But the voice she recognizes: Agent Simmons, her lilting accent unmistakable. Piper can't make out what she's saying exactly and whoever is answering her is speaking too quietly for her to identify but that doesn't matter. She relaxes, instantly feeling much better. Agent Simmons she trusts, explicitly. She might even be willing to share some of her carefully hidden chocolate.

Piper moves to step into the doorway of the kitchen but stops when her eyes settle on Agent Simmons and her companion. It's Daisy, which isn't all that surprising in itself. She knows that they're friends, that they share an enviable closeness thanks to all they've been through and seen.

What does strike Piper is strange as they way they're standing together in the near perfect darkness of the kitchen. Their proximity isn't that of friends but something more, something more pressing, intimate, important. Daisy reaches for Jemma's hand and she laces their fingers together, holding onto her tightly.

Piper moves out of sight, stepping back into the hallway. She feels guilty for nearly interrupting this quiet, obviously private moment. There's something else tightening in her stomach too, something a bit like jealousy, as she remembers watching Daisy reach for Jemma's hand, the easy way she'd done it, a little gesture to suggest she'd done it a thousand times before.

Quickly, Piper starts back in the direction of her bunk. She'd always argued with the other rookie agents, the lone protester insisting that Jemma and Fitz were just friends and she feels a little private thrill of victory at the thought that she might have been right after all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fitz knows, of course he does. Jemma has always been easy for him to read, her mannerisms and expressions as understandable to him as his own thoughts. Most of the time, anyway. And she'd told him, months before and he'd seen fear in her eyes then instead of excitement, worry about what he might think, about what Daisy might think. I like her, Fitz, she'd whispered in the lab with her eyes on the floor.

So he knows, in an off-handed sort of way. But he'd, well, Fitz doesn't want to say that he'd forgotten because that's not entirely the right word. It had just slipped from the forefront of his mind. Jemma had stopped talking to him about it, stopped bringing it up, and he'd forgotten to ask. The knowledge had been there: Jemma likes Daisy. But it hadn't exactly meant anything.

Until Fitz sees them together in the lab. They're alone and they don't realize that he's stepped inside; this new base isn't quite as fancy as they one they'd just blown up. The door doesn't whisper when Fitz steps up to it; the opens soundlessly as he presses against it with his elbow, looking at something on his tablet.

Jemma is studying a tablet of her own, no doubt pouring over the readings that she's getting from Daisy, connected to various machines by the wires on her skin. Jemma makes a face, no doubt in response to whatever she's seeing on her screen and Daisy mimics her, an easy gesture that catches Fitz's attention and reminds him of the days, years before, when he might have done the same.

He watches as Jemma rolls her eyes, shaking her head, moving to turn away from Daisy. Daisy reaches forward, reaching for her hand. Her fingers hang loosely around Jemma's wrist and it's Jemma who twists her hand away just enough that their fingers hook together.

It's then that Fitz really remembers their conversation, really understands what Jemma had said to him that afternoon. This gesture, so easy and unimportant, suddenly looks so intimate. They aren't holding hands, not really; but they're tethered together, however loosely, however briefly. Momentarily connected.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daisy is asleep, her forehead pressed uncomfortably to the glass of the Jeep. May can see her in the rearview mirror, the way her brow is furrowed, how her lips are parted slightly, how she looks annoyed and ready for a fight even in sleep.

The rest of the Jeep is quiet, everyone exhausted, momentarily sedate after a successful mission. Beside her, Elena sits, tapping her fingers impatiently against her knee, as though she wishes she could be out and moving, burning off the extra energy still coursing through her body. May almost envies Jemma's seemingly meditative state; she hasn't said a word since they got into the Jeep and Daisy fell asleep and her features betray nothing of how she's currently feeling. May wonders if Jemma hasn't learned more than a thing or two from her after all.

Jemma glances over toward Daisy and May almost misses the faint smile that passes across Jemma's face as she lets her eyes settle on Daisy. But she doesn't miss the way that Jemma reaches for Daisy's hand resting on the seat between them, covering it with her own.

It nearly makes May smile as well, though she returns her attention on the road ahead before anyone can notice.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Talbot narrows his eyes. "Nervous, are we?" Figures. Only someone with something to hide would be nervous in a situation like this.

Daisy doesn't say anything. She just narrows her eyes at him from across the table and all the while her leg keeps bouncing, giving away what her scowl does not. The other faces on her side of the table -the annoying British doctor and the terrifying Asian ninja- seem to be taking a page out of Quake's book and giving him a scowl.

Not that their attempts at a death glare bother him. He just points at Daisy. "Stop," he says gruffly. "I don't need any sort of funny business. No earthquakes or anything."

Daisy stills her leg with a final thud of her boot heel but Talbot doesn't feel like he's won this particular argument. He feels like this girl is trying to ruffle his feathers, to make him regret these mandatory SHIELD briefings so that he can keep Coulson and his pet superhero on a tight leash. The rest of them too…he should just build a kennel for all Coulson's pets to keep them out of his way.

"So," Talbot ignores the scowl still on Daisy's face, flipping open a dossier in front of him. "Let's talk about Tulsa last week. Property damage, buildings and cars destroyed, three people in the hospital…" He looks up at Daisy. "I don't remember authorizing any missions to Oklahoma."

Sighing, Daisy shifts in her seat, leaning back. There's something in her eyes, something like regret, something she's not saying…something that makes Talbot want to push her until she tells him everything.

Talbot barely catches movement underneath the table: the doctor reaching out to take Daisy's hand, threading their fingers together and giving her hand a squeeze.

It only makes Talbot all the more suspicious that there's something going on that he really wants to know about. Coulson's team isn't going to keep pulling the wool over his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ophelia is still learning human traits, watching carefully, much more carefully than she did when she was Aida, so she can be sure to get every part of it right. So she can be like them one day, completely and truly. She wants to fit in, though she knows such a thing will never be completely possible. They don't want her there with them but they won't let her go either.

Mostly, she watches Jemma. At first it had been mostly out of self-defense, certain that she needed to guard herself at all times just in case Jemma was prone to that petty human condition of revenge. But now it's mostly out of habit, trying to puzzle through the many facial expressions, the way the body moves and reacts to different types of stimuli.

And she can tell…Dr. Simmons is tense, angry. This is something Ophelia is used to: the tightness in Jemma's shoulders whenever she's around, the way her spine straightens and her chin lifts, almost imperceptibly, like she's on guard around Ophelia in the same way Ophelia is guarding herself around Jemma. She can see the tightness in Jemma's shoulders now, the way her muscles knot between her shoulder blades, the way she holds a little too tightly to anything she happens to pick up.

Right now, they're studying the pieces of a recently acquired 084, something they're trying to keep of Talbot's radar for the time being. And she's there, watching them mostly, but learning too about how to lie and these different pieces of the world, mysterious and unknowable even though she has so much more knowledge than they do.

Ophelia watches Fitz and Coulson puzzle over the pieces but she's more interested in watching Jemma. She's standing off to the side with Daisy, both of their backs to the proceedings going on, a tablet between them. Daisy tilts her head closer to Jemma, saying something that no one else can hear but that makes Jemma shake her head, her shoulders still tense, her body giving her thoughts away.

Daisy reaches for Jemma's free hand, holding onto her tightly; their fingers lace together and Ophelia can see Jemma relax, albeit only marginally. She studies them, tilting her head slightly. "It's interesting to me, that humans do that," she remarks.

Without looking up, Fitz mutters, "You're human now too. You can't keep saying that."

"Right." She nods. "I only mean…I'd thought that hand-holding was purely a romantic thing, a way to express romantic interest and show possession over your partner."

Fitz looks up, confused. He's about to ask her what the hell she's talking about when he glances over and notices Daisy and Jemma, standing off on their own with their hands still linked. He smiles slightly and Ophelia thinks this particular smile is to show happiness for another person.

"Apparently it is supportive," Ophelia adds, wanting to provide more context for her observation. Judging by the tension steadily draining from Jemma's shoulders, she is feeling very supported at the moment.

"It can be both," Fitz says. "Sometimes at the same time."

Ophelia frowns. "Both?" She considers this. "Oh. I…I see…"

She studies Daisy and Jemma with renewed interest and suddenly Jemma's relaxed posture and little smile make more sense. It's sweet, she thinks; especially if it takes away some of Jemma's hard edges.

Surprising but sweet. It seems there's always something new to learn.

#skimmons #bioquake #touch prompts

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recentanimenews · 5 years

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THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH Heats up with the Legendary Sannin Battle in Episodes 92-98!

It's that time, y'all. It's time for the GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH! I'm Nicole Mejias, and I'll be your host this week as we make our way through all 220 episodes of the original Naruto. Last week, we tackled episodes 85-91, introducing us into the arc of Tsunade's path to becoming the next Hokage. This week, we've got episodes 92-98 on the docket, so let's get to it!

Last week we started to learn more about Tsunade, the woman who may become the next Hokage. This batch of episode leads us through her decision and the conflicts that arise from it, with a heavy focus on the three legendary ninja: Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade. Naruto is sort of just along for the ride here, but we get to see the birth of his signature ability: The Rasengan! Kabuto also makes some serious impressions here, and at the end of the episodes, the Leaf Village finds themselves with a new leader. We also start to learn a bit more about the fate of Rock Lee after the disastrous results of the Chunin Exam, and things don't look very good for him.

Let's see what the Crunchyroll Features team thought of this week's slew of episodes!

These episodes deal heavily with Tsunade's struggle to decide whether to accept the title of Hokage or not. How do you feel about Tsunade as a character after this resolution of her introduction arc?

Kevin: Based on her arc and characterization, I have no doubt that she will care about the Village, however I’m not convinced that she’s actually a good choice for Hokage. It seems more like no one outside of the Sannin are famous enough to be recommended for the position.

David: She’s definitely one of my favorites at this point. Regarding her arc so far, I’m glad the story let her have a moment where she stands up and assumes responsibility, without going back and pretending she doesn’t have any of her character flaws anymore. Change is a slow process.

Paul: Tsunade gets some heroic moments and we learn enough about her past and the traumas that she's overcome to get a good idea about her character, but I'm still not sure how she'll cope as the Fifth Hokage, as the position doesn't seem to fit her personality very well. I'd like to see more about her perspective as a field medic. What would it be like to be a super-powered doctor in a world crawling with deadly ninja?

Noelle: I think Tsunade’s pretty great! It’s not easy to step up and take charge, and it’s definitely not easy to push past long-existing traumas, but she manages to do just that. It’s also not something shown as easy, which I appreciate. I think it might take her some getting used to, but I think somewhere down the line, she can be a good leader.

Joseph: I still think it’s wild to have a medic ninja with a fear of blood but I dig Tsunade. She has some real struggles to cope with and I like that she had to see firsthand the threats her people are up against to make her big decision.

Jared: I liked her more as these episodes went on compared to last week. Like others here, I’m curious to see how she is able to handle the responsibilities of being the Hokage. Especially with regards to all the turmoil the village is dealing with and having to rebuild from what happened.

Kara: Definitely still liking Tsunade, but I love the extra context here. The English major in me also loved how her overcoming her fear coincided with her healing herself. Very nice. And again, I am cool with a Hokage who’s willing to throw down against a kid.

Danni: I think she’ll contrast well with what we saw of the Third Hokage. I dig her a lot right now, especially since she got over her fear of blood. It was a nice dose of irony, but it kept becoming an excuse to have her cower in the corner, which honestly sucked a lot considering she’s like the strongest woman in the world.

Naruto succeeds in using the Rasengan here! What's your opinion on Naruto's growth throughout the series? He seems to get the most 'on-screen' training, but sometimes still seems outclassed by everyone somehow. What do you think about the successful execution of the Rasengan?

Kevin: The Rasengan is the first time we’ve seen Naruto truly struggle with training, and even when he pulled it off this first time, it was a spur of the moment inspiration, rather than definitely mastering the technique ahead of time. As for Naruto’s growth thus far, I’m a sucker for Shounen training so I’ve had a good time with it. He doesn’t really change as a character, but I like the worldbuilding and expanding magic system that comes from more in-depth training arcs.

David: Watching Naruto grow is genuinely satisfying, largely because it almost never feels like he is granted said growth simply because the story calls for it. He’s a good kid who is constantly working hard to achieve his goals. His quick thinking on successfully performing the Rasengan makes perfect sense given how he usually works out problems, and the aftermath of its effects on his body proves he has ways to go yet.

Paul: We've seen Naruto grow in terms of his Chakra-manipulation and Ninjutsu skills, but my favorite moments have been the ones that emphasize Naruto's growth as a character, such as when he steps back and lets Sakura have her moment with the newly-revived Sasuke. There's a heavy focus on Naruto's sense of empathy, which is more interesting in my opinion than his combat prowess. Regarding training, going forward I'd like to see Naruto develop a completely original Jutsu rather than just putting a creative spin on an existing technique.

Noelle: Naruto really deserved this moment. Some shonen it really feels like protagonists get their powers out of nowhere, either too easily or merely when the plot calls for it, but Naruto actively struggles. The show devoted quite a bit of time to showing how the Rasengan is complicated, hard to master, and not very intuitive. As such, when Naruto finally gets it, that’s purely satisfying.

Joseph: I know Naruto’s inner powers give him a massive advantage over almost all his opponents, but I love how genuinely hard working he is. He’s gone from being annoying to imo a total sweetpea over the course of 98 episodes and I think they’ve done a great job carrying out both his training and personal growth.

Jared: I really enjoyed seeing him go through all of the training to finally figure out a way to make this technique his own. You could see the struggle he had to go through to get to that point, and when it finally pays off, it’s wonderful. He’s definitely undergone a lot of growth throughout the series which has been enjoyable to watch, such as giving Sakura and Sasuke a moment when he wakes up. It was a rather mature moment from him which isn’t what you expect from the beginning of the series.

Kara: Creativity with jutsus, both making them work in the first place and how they’re used, is something I’ve been enjoying consistently about Naruto. I also haven’t been giving this kid nearly enough credit for his lateral thinking skills. Yeah, he keeps on cranking out Shadow Clone Jutsu, but it’s his favorite and one he can do in his sleep, so it makes a lot of good sense for him to recontextualize difficult techniques from a familiar starting point. I kind of want to show these training sequences to my teacher friends; I think they’d appreciate them.

Danni: I was amused by how they managed to walk the line between having him master this near-impossible to master technique in two weeks without having him master it the RIGHT way so he can still be the underdog. I’m glad he has some more tricks up his sleeve now with the summoning and the Rasengan. I like him a lot as a protagonist and can’t wait to see him start using his newfound abilities in *checks schedule* the weeks and weeks of upcoming filler.

Kabuto makes a lot of waves in these episodes, showing off his particular strengths. How do you feel about Kabuto here? I remember when I first watched this that I found Kabuto a lot cooler than I think I do now.

Kevin: *Insert laughter with growing insanity* Oh Kabuto, you started out as a simple henchman. So far, he seems like a legitimate threat, at the level of a Jonin and combat skills on par if not above Tsunade while also being such an unknown that he was able to take the Chunin exam with the main cast. Later on… well, we’ll get to that eventually.

David: I’m honestly kind of frustrated he is so powerful that he can stand up to a Sannin like Tsunade, and the only real explanation for that so far is basically “well he works for Orochimaru, so…”. Hopefully this gets explored more in the future.

Paul: Kabuto is such a gigantic dork. He's like the kid in a tabletop game of Risk who grabs Australia and turtles up, turning the entire game into an inevitable nine hour slug-fest. I'll be happy when someone finally gives him the shinobi equivalent of an Atomic Wedgie.

Noelle: I do love my antagonists, so ruthless Kabuto ranks much higher to me than friendly Kabuto. Like Kevin says, it’s best to just judge him at the moment, and so far, he’s pretty okay. I’m not that impressed overall, for him being able to do hard damage on Tsunade seems a little bit much, but I guess they had to establish him as a threat.

Joseph: Kabuto is kind of corny. I did like him being recognized as the battle against Orochimaru began, but I could take or leave him at this point.

Jared: The way they’ve been able to position him as this guy who looks out for Naruto to now wanting to murder him has been very good, because it made his eventual turn that much better. I don’t know how much I buy him being as accomplished as he seems, but I guess him being recognized by Orochimaru is a good endorsement. Although, I still feel like I’m waiting for him to do another double cross at some point.

Kara: I’ve watched enough giant robot anime to know what happens to right hands. I’d like to be able to take time to appreciate him, but I just keep wondering when he’s gonna get killed, betrayed, used as a meat shield, sacrificed for some greater purpose, replaced, demoted…

Danni: The more evil and cool they try to make Kabuto the more he comes across as a lame tryhard. I feel like I’ve heard at least in passing heard of or seen every single character in Naruto EXCEPT him, which probably means he isn’t all that important.

Let's address a somewhat unfortunate problem: the way Tsunade gets depicted and looked at in this show. I noticed it a lot more than I did when I watched this originally, and I was curious if you think the focus on boob jokes and such harms Tsunade's character, especially since she's the new Hokage?

Kevin: I definitely noticed it as a kid. It’s not great, but mostly only lasts a few seconds at a time and then she reestablishes either how much ass she kicks without even trying or reminds everyone that she is the one in charge. I’m not sure if it hurts her character or not, but it definitely doesn’t help. Luckily, she at least has more characterization that being just a boob, gambling and drinking gag on loop.

David: I don’t mind the drinking and gambling; those seem like real character flaws tied closely to her trauma and commitment issues. The constant focus on her looks from basically every other character is a problem though, one that unfortunately extends to how the show treats its entire female cast. It wouldn’t be as bad if, say, it was just a quirk of Shikamaru’s, but when everyone in the whole show does it to some extent or another, there’s clearly a more fundamental issue at play.

Paul: Maybe I've been poisoned by decades of anime fan-service, but I found the stuff surrounding Tsunade to be rather restrained at first. She spends most of her introductory episodes wearing that huge jacket, so the camera doesn't really have much opportunity to leer at her body, although when the jacket comes off we get a Powergirl scenario, where I swear they draw Tsunade's breasts larger in every subsequent cut just to see what they can get away with. It also took them something like 10 episodes for someone to face-plant into her cleavage, so...progress?

Noelle: Unfortunately, this isn’t a Tsunade-only problem—Kishimoto really isn’t that great at writing women overall. This is just one example of that larger problem. As for her specifically, I’m not going to pretend it’s good. Framing things like this is an author’s choice, and a deliberate one. That being said, as uncomfortable as it is, it’s not as bad as some fanservice other series pulls. That doesn’t mean it’s good though, I’d rather Tsunade not be framed like this at all, but this is what we get.

Joseph: I, too, have anime poison, because I didn’t think much of it. I also remember that aspect from when the series first aired and it seems pretty tame as far as not including too much nonsense fan-service goes.

Jared: I said this last week that I’m not surprised that they’d write her kind of poorly after what we’ve already seen with Sakura. I guess it could be worse and be something like Jiraiya just perving after her all the time, but trying to build her up as getting over her trauma to finally taking the position of Hokage, to then having Konohamaru face plant into her cleavage is not great.

Kara: I don’t think I’m un-poisoned but I must have an unpleasantly high threshold. Nothing about Tsunade’s depiction bothered me up until Konohamaru motorboated her, and then I just kinda died inside.

Danni: I’m honestly surprised by how few boob jokes there’ve been. The only one I can recall is when Konohomaru bumps into her and just starts motorboating. What really sticks out to me though is all the guys being jerks about her age. Like, a hot woman in her 50s who can kill me with one hit? That’s the IDEAL woman.

So, these episodes leave us with some bad news in terms of resolution: Rock Lee's ninja career seems to be over. I know people are pretty partial to Rock Lee, and I remember being pretty upset when he got so hurt during the exams. What are your thoughts about Lee's future? (Feel free to talk about how great of a character Lee is!)

Kevin: Tsunade, if you ever talk to my ninja son like that ever again, you’ll wish you had stayed in that tourist town. Seriously though, that revelation was so well choreographed (especially Lee’s reaction) that I remembered almost the exact wording, even years after previously seeing the scene. It makes going back to the Third Exam Preliminaries even tougher to watch, since throughout Lee’s fight against Gaara, we see the failure struggle against impossible odds and know that not only will he fail, but even after seeing him raise to continue fighting while unconscious, the damage he inflicted on himself created what is basically a coin flip whether he can pursue his dream or die trying.

David: I know there’s been a lot of arguably more important things going on, but this continuous stretching of Lee’s suffering is almost getting to be too much really. His fight was fifty episodes ago, and he’s constantly working on getting better, yet every time we check in on him things just look worse. But really this comes from a place of caring—stop teasing us, if he’s gonna get better, I wanna see him get better already!

Paul: Lee is a lovely good boy, and I'm surprised that they've kept him out of commission for as long as they have, but if Sasuke can survive two brushes with death without permanent repercussions on his health, then I have to believe that Lee will pull through somehow, too. The state of his injuries weeks later makes me angry at Might Guy for allowing Lee to push his body past the breaking point, though.

Noelle: Give Lee a break! I didn’t really pay much attention to him during my first viewing years back but Lee really does deserve better. He does nothing but try hard, and has gotten this far on the power of hard work alone. Seeing geniuses get by with relative ease but Lee getting the short end of the stick hurts. Do I think this is going to be a permanent thing? No, I doubt it, but the fact that he has to deal with this in the first place—give this boy a vacation.

Joseph: Definitely a heart-breaker, but I have confidence that Kishimoto won’t relegate such a good character to the sidelines. Right? RIGHT?

Jared: Rock Lee is still the best boy in this entire dang series and I really hope we get to see his triumphant return. If it goes that route, it won’t be easy, but that boy can totally do it with how mentally tough he is. Plus, if that’s where it does go, I’m expecting some pro wrestling style injury return hype videos.

Kara: I can’t believe they’d bring a badass medical ninja to town, make her Hokage, and then have her not be able to help my best boy. I’m with Paul—as much as I appreciate Might Guy sticking to the sports anime hardcore training aesthetic, I’m not pleased with him letting Lee mess himself up to this degree. He knows Lee will fight ‘til he’s burger unless someone stops him, and sometimes that’s not a good thing. This is largely, if not entirely, on Guy.

Danni: Like I said before, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Rock Lee.

And, as always, what are the high and low points in this week’s set of episodes?

Kevin: High point - Up until the end of the final episode, I was going to give it to the Sannin fight, since we finally see full-fledged ninja fighting all out, but we also know that none of them are at full strength and so know that this isn’t even as crazy as it can get. Lee getting notified by the top medical ninja that he should give up his dream takes the top spot though. It was absolutely heart rending to hear, even knowing full well that it was coming and how it resolves. Low point - Shikamaru and his dad. It was a short moment, but really guys? Women are basically just around to give the men a reason to do good things, and even the sharpest edged one will show a soft side to the one she loves? Mister Nara, please update your morals a bit.

David: High point is Naruto inheriting the First Hokage’s necklace. After all of her backstory, that moment more than anything else is proof of both Naruto’s perseverance and growth as well as Tsunade’s renewed faith in both herself and the future. Low point is basically the entire “Naruto kidnapping” episode, not because I think it was entirely pointless or bad, but because it really didn’t need to be a whole episode and the pacing of this show is otherwise much better than that.

Paul: My high point is a tie between Gamatatsu, the adorably inept Frog Summon with the sunny disposition, and Katsuyu, the gigantic Slug Summon with the gentle voice and extremely respectful manner of speech. I love both of those characters. My low point is a tie between Jiraiya giving himself heatstroke in an attempt to be a perv at the mixed bathing hot springs and Shikamaru's continued low-grade misogyny. Tsunade is the Fifth Hokage, and you will treat her with respect, young man!

Noelle: High points, the Sannin fight, from giant kaiju battles to everyone going one on one. Tsunade riding Gamabunta’s sword and slamming at into Manda’s mouth was something I loved as a kid and I sure do love that now! Tsunade throwing hands is also completely delightful. Low point, Shikamaru’s not so subtle misogyny. Really, Shikamaru? Really?

Joseph: High point: Gamatatsu is my new favorite Naruto character. Low point: The C-grade hot spring episode I almost completely tuned out during.

Jared: Naruto catching Kabuto’s knife in between his fingers was the most hardcore and metal thing he’s done in this entire series and it was AWESOME. Low points would be the hot spring episode which was just there and Shikamaru’s monologue about women.

Kara: High point is absolutely Tsunade making Orochimaru into her own personal punching bag, especially when she was just whipping him around by the tongue. Close second is good boy Gamatatsu having a lovely first day out. Low point was the show bringing Jiraiya’s perv aspect right back into play after that awesome fight. I’d nearly forgotten about it, but here we are.

Danni: Low point goes to Shikamaru and his dad. For real, guys? You’re both pretty cool, but there’s no excuse for misogyny. High point was easily watching Tsunade just beat the everloving crap out of Orochimaru for like 5 minutes.

COUNTERS:

"I'm gonna be Hokage!" count: 16 Bowls of ramen consumed: 2 bowls Shadow Clones created: 17 + 1 uncountable scene

Total so far:

"I'm gonna be Hokage!" count: 48 Bowls of ramen consumed: 35 bowls + 3 cups Shadow Clones created: 314

And that's everything for this week! Remember that you're always welcome to join us for this rewatch, especially if you haven't watched the original Naruto! Watch Naruto today!

Here's our upcoming schedule:

- April 26th will have DAVID LYNN take us to the Land of Waves in episodes 99-105.

- May 3rd features PAUL CHAPMAN, who will walk us through the inevitable Naruto vs Sasuke in episodes 106-112.

- May 10th, JOSEPH LUSTER will give us the deets on the Sound Four.

Thank you for joining us for the Great Crunchyroll Naruto Rewatch! Have a great weekend, and we'll see you all next time!

Have anything to say about our thoughts on Episodes 92-98? Let us know in the comments! Don't forget, we're also accepting questions and comments for next week, so don't be shy and feel free to ask away!

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Nicole is a features and a social video script writer for Crunchyroll. Known for punching dudes in Yakuza games on her Twitch channel while professing her love for Majima. She also has a blog, Figuratively Speaking. Follow her on Twitter: @ellyberries

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