#it should be the same for mikey but like. who knows

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Second reason I found as to why Sanzu and Senju still use 'Sanzu' and 'Kawaragi' in the final timeline (even tho they probably have no reason to):

It'd be hard for them to make a name for themselves if their brother's reputation follow them

[phantomrose96]

Before the Birds Sing

Christophe wakes on the morning of April 7th for the 273rd time.

It is 7:03, as it almost always is, and it is the snooze-delayed alarm that wakes him, as it almost always does. Christophe knows the pattern of bird song before they chirp, and he knows the exact cadence of cars that hum by on the street before they even crawl around the corner. Christophe listens to it, and he dawdles on his phone.

There is no practical reason to check his phone. He knows of course that it is 7:03 and he knows it’s 67 degrees outside—sunny—35% humidity—and he knows the contents of the 2 texts he received overnight. But Christophe makes motions with no practical reason. He does it to not upset anyone who, if paying close attention, could take issue with him knowing things before he’s learned them.

Christophe stows his phone into his pajama pocket at 7:06 and goes downstairs, which is the optimal time to go downstairs. Any earlier and Madeline’s pot of coffee would still be brewing, and she’d offer him first-cup with a touch of resentment over him getting first cup of the pot she’d been brewing. But if he refuses it would be a Thing, and Christophe hates starting a Thing.

But it is 7:06, and Madeline is starting to empty the dishwasher, steaming cup of coffee perched on the counter beside the sink. Christophe says, “Morning” and kisses her head and pours his own cup.

“Morning,” Madeline answers. Her hair is not damp anymore, but it could be in the two cases Christophe woke at 6:45. He hadn’t yet figured out what caused that. He’d never been able to recreate it on purpose.

“Oh,” Madeline always says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe sometimes answers. Because the sometimes when he sounds too neutral makes Madeline’s mouth tighten with worry. And the sometimes when he’s too enthusiastic makes Madeline stiff like she’s confused. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki,” which is Madeline’s mom’s new dog, and is the optimal answer to give about her mom coming over for dinner.

“He’s gotten so big,” Madeline says with a smile.

This is optimal because Boki is an easy topic to interrupt when Beatrice from across the street slams into Christophe’s car.

“Christ!” Madeline reacts to the SLAM-RRCH, WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP of collision and car alarm and woo woo woo of Bucky from the downstairs unit.

(“Hush, Bucky,” Peter from the downstairs unit says muffled.) Christophe is in the stairwell, heading out the door. (Peter is making hashbrowns. Christophe stopped at his door one morning, for no real reason. During the mid-100s of his loop, Christophe tried a few things “just because.”) So he thinks about the hashbrowns abandoned on the stove while Peter pulls Bucky away from the door. Christophe goes outside to Beatrice with her hands on her head.

“I didn’t see it!” Beatrice always says while Christophe opens the door. There is lipstick smeared from lip to hairline straight across her cheek. She wears an expression like she’s run over someone’s child.

Christophe goes through the motions of looking at his car, which is always identically dented in the fender, with the same red paint tucked in its scratches. “Hey hey, these things happen. Do you have your insurance information? We just need to call our insurances, and they’ll sort it out.”

This is the optimal answer. Beatrice calms down, as she takes comfort in being given actionable direction. Christophe knows a lot about Beatrice, who he’d never met before today. She has three sons: Jimmy who knows a mechanic from college, Kevin who is an insurance adjustor, but for a life insurance company, and Mikey, who is Beatrice’s favorite as most of the time, he’s the one she calls.

“Yes, yes okay. It’s in the glove box—yes, Mikey, yes that’s—the guy is here, his car. Mikey, I should get my insurance information, right? Yes,” Beatrice says into her earpiece. Christophe thinks to ask her what Mikey does for a living, but there’s no reason to detract today’s path, which so far is optimal.

Beatrice scuttles away, opening her passenger door and half leaning out of it while she finds her papers. There is no good way to prevent Beatrice from hitting his car—as it turns out, no one believes you if you preemptively try to tell them not to hit your car. And getting his own car out of the way doesn’t quite work. Getting to it in time requires cutting Madeline short on her question about her mother. And the interruption makes Madeline upset.

If he can figure out how the 6:45 wake-up loop works, maybe Christophe could move his car first, then talk to Madeline, then Beatrice wouldn’t hit his car—but it would be a lot of pressure, to get that lucky, and then try to do the whole day after that perfectly, lest he just wake up all over again, 7:03, hearing the birds before they chirp.

“This, I think. It’s this paper?” Beatrice asks.

“Yes yes, see this number? You’ll need to call that one.” Christophe just needs to be understanding, but firm. And not say anything like, “Sorry, maybe my car was too far out of the driveway!” because that will make Beatrice purse her lips and nod and say “Yeah, actually I think your car was too far out.”

Beatrice asks—maybe to Christophe, and maybe to Mikey—how long this whole thing with insurance will take. Christophe tells Beatrice insurance should handle it quickly. He’s not sure if that’s true. He’s never made it to tomorrow.

…

Christophe’s shoulders ease down a fraction once Beatrice is out of sight. The rest of the morning is easier. Madeline only needs to be told “Don’t worry, insurance is handling it.” And there’s no real wrong way to shower, and no real wrong way to get dressed. And as long as he avoids Summer Street on the way to work (someone hit a fire hydrant there) then there’s not many wrong ways to get to work.

Christophe reads all unread emails, which are memorized at this point. He accepts Frankie’s invite to grab lunch together in the cafeteria. He doesn’t start anything important while counting the minutes to 9:43. 9:43 comes, and their boss Bruce calls Christophe, and Frankie, and Arnold into his office.

Bruce wears the same olive shirt every day with the same unmatching plum tie—except for one day when he wore an orange tie. He orders everyone to sit the way he always does. And he gives the same rant, which Christophe puts on a face of surprise for, while Bruce reads out the scathing customer email received overnight over a massively delayed shipment. Bruce’s hand flies around in a rage, and there is a different watch on today.

The watch is unusual. It’s silver. Not the normal gold one, and kind of thinner. Christophe wonders why it’s different. Christophe wonders about the little things that are capable of changing, and whether that means Peter isn’t always cooking hashbrowns, or if one of these days Beatrice simply won’t hit his car.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

Christophe snaps from his thoughts about watches, experiencing the emotion of surprise for the first time in many days.

“If they’d gotten us the right shipping address from the start, we wouldn’t need to be jumping through all these hoops and taking the blame to fix their fuck-up.”

Bruce’s little eyes get about as big as they can on his red face, and Christophe immediately feels his ribcage drop down to his feet.

He’d given the optimal response… to offer to Frankie in the office space later, when Frankie would be sitting crouched and staring at his knees with an expression like he didn’t want to be staring at his knees. This is Frankie’s client, and every time today happens, Frankie shoulders the most blame. And it makes Frankie feel a little better when Christophe directs the blame back onto them.

Bruce’s answer, optimally, is, “It’s an oversight, you’re absolutely correct. I know our team can get this sorted out today. And we’ll craft an apology email to them immediately.”  

“Mahone did you just say the word… ‘fuck-up’, to me?”

Bruce is having an affair. Christophe doesn’t technically know this today. But he does if he tries proactively to enter Bruce’s office and read the (quite positive) response email to his apology, and only if he times this between 1:19pm and 1:21pm. Maria from accounting is under the desk for reasons that cannot be explained away. He actually needs to come in at about 1:30pm to read the email, which Bruce will nod to and give a firm clap of approval to Christophe’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I completely misspoke. I meant to say ‘our’ fuck-up, and…” Christophe trails off, tired. He is long-since tired of finding brand new optimal paths off untrodden conversations. He is quickly losing the motivation to try. This is clearly unsalvageable.

Bruce has a wife and a 9-year-old daughter.

“Sorry, we'll try that again,” Christophe says, under the gawking stares of Frankie and Arnold.

“No, you don’t get to try that again, Mahone. Not to me,” Bruce says. “You can pack your desk and get out of here.”

Christophe does not pack his desk.

It is 7:03 am. Christophe hears the note of each bird before it chirps.

…

“Oh,” Madeline always says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe sometimes answers again. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki.”

“He’s gotten so big,” Madeline says with a smile. SLAM-RRCH “Christ!” WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP woo woo woo.

“I’ve got it,” Christophe says. He opens their unit door and rounds the stairs. (“Bucky, hush.”) He thinks about hashbrowns.

Bruce’s watch is gold again today.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

“It’s an oversight, you’re absolutely correct. I know our team can get this sorted out today. And we’ll craft an apology email to them immediately.”

Christophe is dismissed along with Frankie and Arnold, who bow lower than him and walk like they have tails tucked up. Christophe opens the door back into their office space, and Frankie takes his seat, staring at his knees with an expression like he doesn’t want to be staring at his knees.

Christophe squeezes a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. Performatively, he looks over his own shoulder, like he’s checking to ensure Bruce hasn’t followed. Bruce never does. “If they’d gotten us the right shipping address from the start, we wouldn’t need to be jumping through all these hoops and taking the blame to fix their fuck-up.”

Frankie straightens a little, until he only a little bit resembles a shrimp. He smiles a little at Christophe.

Christophe takes his own seat, and he begins crafting the optimal client apology email.

…

Christophe pulls into the grocery store parking lot. He has a text message open from Madeline, performatively.

“Hey, sorry I don’t think I can make the fish tonight. There’s not enough for three people. Can you pick these up on your way home? We can just do a taco night.”

Sometimes Madeline says this aloud to him in the morning, if he comes down at 7:03 and if he doesn’t turn the conversation to Boki. It’s more convenient to have the list as a text message, though it functionally stopped mattering after about the 10th loop when he’d memorized the ingredients.

Christophe’s path through the grocery store is optimized. Though that is another thing that functionally does not matter. It makes no true difference if he doubles back for the avocados, or combs the spice aisle twice, or even if he stands blankly in the produce section thinking about car insurance or workplace affairs. The grocery store doesn’t really count for anything. As long as he delivers the one good joke to the cashier, it’s a success.

“A lotta avocados,” Amanda with the nose piercing says. That her name is Amanda and that she has a nose-piercing are technically the only things Christophe knows about her today. But on other todays, he’s asked her about family and about school. She has three sisters and three cats. She goes to community college. She’s a Scorpio. There is a faint scar on the middle knuckle of her right hand.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of trying out avocado therapy.”

She gives him a quirked eyebrow. He waits a beat.

“Just start smashing them until I’m better or until I have guacamole, whichever comes first.”

Amanda snorts, and she scans the last item. It’s NOT even that funny. But he said the avocado therapy thing one loop for no real reason and, somehow, it was a hit. He’s tweaked the delivery just a bit, until it felt optimal.

Christophe folds himself back into the car with the avocados and the cilantro and the lime and the onion and the chips. He turns the car on, and the radio crackles to life with Sexyback on the throwback channel. He lets it play in its entirety before moving the car out of park. It’s easier than counting the minutes needed before he’s allowed to arrive home without Madeline remarking that he got home from the grocery store “really fast.” It’s also why optimizing the avocadoes doesn’t matter. Getting home from the grocery store too fast is weird, and Christophe optimally does not do anything weird today.

Lucinda is already in the kitchen when Christophe arrives home, smelling faintly of cloves, which Christophe figured out on about the 50th loop. She is parked on the barstool overlooking the island counter, hawkishly observing the bowls of cheese and sour cream and tomatoes and shredded lettuce.

“Ah, he’s back. Finally,” Lucinda says, and there’s never any real avoiding that. Even when Christophe comes home weirdly early, he’s come home late. “You should be helping Madeline prep. Not me.”

Lucinda takes the whisky glass with the one spherical ice cube and re-parks herself at the kitchen table. Christophe unpacks the guacamole ingredients, and he does not ask about Boki yet, because Boki needs to be the second topic tonight.

Christophe makes guacamole with the exactly ripe avocados, and the exact right proportions of lime and salt and onion—it is, if he’s honest, not enough onion—but it is optimized for Lucinda, who stopped criticizing his guacamole after about the 100th loop.

He uses the bowl Madeline likes and dumps in the chips that Madeline likes too. He offers her a single chip while she’s still frying the ground beef, and she takes it with a secret little smile. He gives her a secret little smile in return, which is enough to somehow say Lucinda is a mutual nuisance, but not enough to suggest he hates her.

The taco ingredient bowls all come to the table one by one. Lucinda is slopping a pile of guacamole onto her plate with the guacamole ladle. “Ethel’s cancer is back. Poor girl. Lopped off both her breasts already. What more can you do?”

“Oh no… Mom, that’s horrible,” Madeline says. She’s stopped mid-taco-bite, brow scrunched in worry. “When did she find out?”

“Today. She doesn’t wanna do chemo again. Poor girl. Probably on her way out at this point.”

Christophe knows from other todays that Ethel is 87. She’s a gardening friend of Lucinda. She used to be a world-class chef, when being both a woman and respected in the restaurant world was unheard of. She has 14 great-grandchildren. She’s taken a boat across the Atlantic Ocean. She beat cancer at age 75. She is probably going to die to it this time.

This is not the first time Christophe has thought about the fact that, as long as today is April 7th, Ethel will never die of cancer. He’s thought about all the people who would have died in the months after April 7th who, in some way, are still alive. And if or when the loop breaks, everyone who dies on April 7th does not get to wake up tomorrow.

But these are the sort of thoughts Christophe has had in depth since the very early days of his loop. He thinks, by and large, he’s settled on the answer that, for every person who doesn’t die today, there is someone else denied being born tomorrow. And whoever he’s holding to life today is offset by someone else who should get to live tomorrow.

There are people out there who are living the worst day of their lives every single day for the last 273 days, and there are, statistically, just as many people living the best day of their life every single day.

As Christophe figures it, this loop is morally neutral. And if he wakes up on April 8th tomorrow, there is no one he’s doomed, and there is no one he’s saved.

When there is nothing more to be said about Ethel, Christophe asks about Boki. Lucinda lights up, and she fumbles for her phone, squinting at its screen. “I have pictures. Oh I have so many pictures.” Lucinda turns the phone to Christophe. He sweeps until the 19th photo, and pauses there.

“What sort of feeder is this? It looks fancy. Nothing like what Pickle had when I was growing up.” It’s just an automatic feeder, but Lucinda loves the suggestion that it’s fancy. She explains it as if Christophe is learning about electronics for the first time, and it pads time.

Christophe has made sure to clear his plate while Lucinda talks. He does not reach for seconds on anything. He needs a clear path to excuse himself from the table, because he knows what Lucinda will bring up next, like he knows the bird notes before they sing.

“I did want to tell you something else, Madeline. And I didn’t want to just ‘text’ it to you, okay? I need you to see my face so you know I’m upset too and so you don’t accuse me of mean and hateful things.”

Christophe has no reaction. He sees the confusion, and the fear taking over Madeline’s face.

“John and I are getting a divorce.”

Madeline’s face is fully white. “Mom, no…”

John is not Madeline’s biological father. Her bio dad left when she was three. Christophe shouldn’t even know his name, but he blundered in comforting her one of these loops and she spat it like a curse.

There is John instead. John who came into Madeline’s life when she was four and treated her like his daughter ever since. John who married Madeline’s mother a year later and who’d been Madeline’s dad ever since. John, who had no blood tie nor name tie to Madeline, and who is about to lose his legal tie as well.

“Mom, you said you were doing therapy,” Madeline always says, whenever Christophe gets this far.

“I am! And I’ve realized that I deserve better than what John is doing to me.”

“Better than John? You deserve better than John, Mom?”

“Madeline this is MY life. Do not do this thing you do where you try to make it ALL about how hurt you are.”

The optimal thing for Christophe to say is nothing, he thinks. The optimal thing to do right now is nothing, he thinks. He guesses, as best he can guess. He doesn’t always get this far. He hasn’t had the chance to try as many things as he’s been able to try with Beatrice, and Bruce, and Amanda. But when he has tried to speak, it doesn’t work. Maybe, optimally, Christophe shouldn’t be here, but Lucinda forces it every time.

He lets Madeline speak. He lets Lucinda respond. He fades into a wallflower, until Madeline slams her chair back and throws her napkin down and says, “I think you should go home, Mom.” He lets her storm into the living room, and he gives a performative glance to Lucinda. She’s not really his concern anymore. Lucinda always leaves right after this.

Christophe stands at the doorway of the living room, which has gone dark since the sun set. Madeline is sobbing quietly on the couch, one pillow pulled into her lap. Christophe can’t see it, but she always has it. He knows it’s there.

He enters, and he sits on the couch with her, and he holds her gently.

He does not know the optimal thing to say.

He’s tried many things. But he says things that are insensitive, or too sensitive, or too optimistic, or too pessimistic. He says things that he has no business saying. He says hollow things. He says things that are too mean to Lucinda, or too apologetic to John.

So every day, he tries to say something new.

The darkness is resting on Christophe’s eyes. He’s staring into the darkness of the livingroom. There are plates of tacos in the dining room. There is unfinished guacamole going brown in Madeline’s favorite bowl.

“That won’t be us,” Christophe says, for the first time.

The pattern of Madeline’s crying breaks. He holds his breath, filing away yet another wrong response, when Madeline reaches her arms out and wraps him tight. She’s crying into her shoulder, but the tensing of her fingers against his ribs is so tender.

“I won’t ever do that to you,” she says into his work shirt. “I love you. Thank you for being here. Thank you. I love you.”

He rubs her back, and his heart is beating faster than it’s beat in 100 loops.

“I love you too,” he says, and it’s optimal.

…

Christophe washes plates. He packs away leftovers. He listens to the shhhh of the kitchen faucet nozzle as it blasts the sink basin and gurgles away down the drain.

The cicadas chirp outside. He doesn’t know this rhythm.

Christophe showers. He gets in bed. Madeline hugs his arm. He stares at the ceiling, and it is 9:00pm for the first time in the last 274 days.

… ... ...

274 days ago, Christophe woke up on April 7th for the first time .

He checked his phone. He read the text from his mom asking for money, and he read the text from his dad telling him to ignore his mom. He checked the weather. He got out of bed and carried himself down the stairs at 7:03.

Madeline was standing at the counter, hunched over a coffee pot huffing fragrant steam up to the ceiling. She caught him from the corner of her eye, and with a sort of veiled resentment Christophe recognized, she poured the first cup and handed it to him.

“My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?”

“Why?” Christophe answered, the word bubbling from the knee-jerk disdain pulling down on his rib cage. Madeline poured the second cup of coffee for herself. “We had her over last week.”

“I don’t know. But she wants to come over,” Madeline answered defensively. She pulled open the dishwasher, stacking plates with a clack, clack, clack.

“We don’t have enough fish.”

“We can just make tacos.”

“We had tacos last week.”

“Fine,” Madeline said, turning back around and leaving the dishwasher half-unloaded. “I’ll tell her no.”

“Come on,” Christophe said. “Don’t say that like I’m being unreasonable.”

“No no, I’ll just tell her no.”

“She’s just… a lot. Come on.”

“You don’t think I know that? I grew up with her.”

“Don’t talk like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Oh, you learned her favorite sentence.”

Christophe’s hands tensed against the hot porcelain of his mug. He had too many words that wanted to pour of out his lips. “You think you’re the only one who grew up with a difficult mom?” “You don’t see me subjecting YOU to MY mom.” “What about maybe a ‘Thank you, Honey, for putting up with my Mom who we both know is a lot.’”

None of those made it into the air. His whole line of thought was ground to a sudden halt by the SLAM-RRCH outside.

“Christ!” Maddie exclaimed, words drowned under the WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP woo woo woo.

Christophe moved with momentum, with adrenaline. He slammed open their unit door and rounded the hall with bare feet (“Hush, Bucky.”)

Outside, some woman was standing just outside her car, lipstick smeared across her cheek and holding her hands against either side of her head.

“What did you DO?” Christophe snapped, all but shoving her out of the way while his heart raced and he investigated the dent in his fender.

“I don’t know!! I didn’t see it! I didn’t see it!” the woman echoed in hysterics. She blinked tears that smeared down her mascara. “Let me call Mikey! He’ll know what to do!”

“Don’t call anyone, Christ. I have to leave for work soon! Just get your insurance documents out of your car, …Fucking Christ.”

The woman stood motionless. She’d been shocked quiet, but still blubbered mutely while the tears fell from her mascara. Great. Great. Another person making Christophe into the bad guy. He rubbed his finger over the red paint scratched into his fender, and he let out a noise that got Bucky barking again.

…

Christophe took his seat at the office, slinking in fifteen minutes late with the mantra-like hope that Bruce hadn’t seen him come in late. It wasn’t his fault his idiot neighbor had scraped his car. It wasn’t his fault that Summer Street was backed up all the way to Oak Road, which he’d screamed himself hoarse about in the car, leaning on his horn all the while.

“Your mom can come over for dinner. It’s fine,” Christophe texted to Madeline. He entertained the hope that it didn’t come across passive-aggressive, but he also couldn’t find the will to include a heart-emoji or an “I love you” that might have softened the tone.

“Okay. Thanks,” she answered.

Christophe’s blood boiled all over. He read emails and re-read them, again and again, because their contents would not stick in his mind.

“Mahone, Charles, Kim, my office. Now.”

Christophe snapped upright, heart stirred to a frenzy for the too-many’th time today. The ice trickle down his spine said “Fuck, you are in trouble for getting in late.” But the inclusion of Frankie and Arnold did not make sense for that. The realization sat like a brick in his stomach while he rose, and met eyes with Frankie and Arnold, and followed Bruce into his office.

Bruce was wearing an ugly olive green shirt with an uglier plum tie when he closed the office door behind them all, and his face was an even uglier scarlet.

“Can any of you three… fucking explain to me, why this email was in my inbox this morning?” Bruce shifted into theatrics, reading each scathing note with a pizzazz solely for the purpose of getting under Christophe’s skin, Christophe was sure. Arnold and Frankie seemed to wince in unison with each lunge Bruce made, but Christophe refused to break posture.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

“You should ask Kim,” Christophe said. Frankie winced again, and it made Christophe madder the way his mind likened Frankie to a scolded dog. “He was the one handling the client.”

“No, I am asking you, Mahone. This is your team. Do not make excuses and do not shift blame. That’s what a weak man does.”

(“Then explain what exactly you’re doing right now.”) Christophe thought to himself. But he did not say it out loud, because he too was a scolded dog.

…

Christophe muttered a curse through each blocking cart and each clueless shopper blocking his path. He got avocadoes, and later doubled-back for the onion, and then doubled-back again for the limes. The chips were in the wrong aisle, because some stupid fucking store manager had decided to move everything again. Christophe forgot the jalapenos.

“Ah, he’s back. Finally,” Madeline’s mother Lucinda said the moment Christophe opened the front door. She leered over her glass of whisky, which immediately set fire to Christophe’s ever-simmering disdain for her.

“I came from work, Lucinda. Because I have a job,” Christophe bit back.

“You people always have excuses,” and it is one ‘you people’ too many, so Christophe set the grocery bag down and disappeared into the living room to throw himself on the couch.

“Mom do not speak to him that way,” Madeline said.

“Well did you see the way he talked to me? Called me jobless.”

“Mom, we’re not doing this.”

“You always want to make me the bad guy.”

Twenty minutes passed, with the living room growing dark around Christophe while he seethed into his phone. He marinated in his spite. There was no reason to make him share a room with Lucinda, in his own apartment. It was his, after all. Madeline moved into his apartment.

Soft footsteps broke his train of thought. Someone stood blocking the bit of light leaking in from the dining room.

“Christophe, hey… That was really out of line of my mom. Sorry.”

“You think?” Christophe answered.

“She’s miserable, and she needs to make everyone else miserable.”

“She does not ‘need’ to. She chooses to. And you let her.”

“I don’t ‘let’ her, Christophe. Don’t make her actions my fault.”

“Her being here is your fault.”

“She…” Madeline breathed hard out of her nose, and she lowered her voice. “She insisted on it. Absolutely insisted.”

“My mom insists I send her money. I just don’t.”

“It’s different.”

Christophe let out a little snort. He let the silence linger.

“…Look, I’ll say thank you once she’s gone, okay. A really really big thank you. I’ll make you any dinner you want this weekend, as a thank you. Okay? Because… she’s a lot. I know she’s a lot. So… thank you.”

The anger boiling in Christophe ebbed a fraction, and he almost resented this more, because this whole day was so much easier if he let himself fester in it.

…

“Ethel’s cancer is back. Poor girl. Lopped off both her breasts already. What more can you do?”

“Oh no… Mom, that’s horrible.”

Christophe dipped his chips in the guacamole without jalapeno. He did his best to avoid looking at Lucinda without making it obvious he was avoiding her. He tuned in only long enough to hear ‘cancer’, and tuned back out when he was sure Ethel was no one he knew.

Ethel as a topic stuck. Lucinda seemed to revel in it, in that way she loved, to bring up something horrific and make it everyone else’s burden to indulge her on it. It sickened Christophe, the way she seemed to light up at every opportunity to tell you something horrible.

“Ethel has honestly made me realize something. And it’s that life is short. And one day you’re gonna wake up with breast cancer, thinking to yourself, ‘Why’d I waste all this life?’” Lucinda stuffed another bite of taco in her face. Through her food she spoke. “So I wanted to tell you this myself, Maddie. And I didn’t want to just ‘text’ it to you, okay? I need you to see my face so you know I’m upset too and so you don’t accuse me of mean and hateful things.”

Christophe stiffened, angry before he even knew what he was angry about, just certain of the fact that Lucinda was about to make something worse for him than it already was.

“John and I are getting a divorce.”

Madeline’s face was fully white. “Mom, no… Mom, you said you were doing therapy.”

“I am! And I’ve realized that I deserve better than what John is doing to me.”

“Better than John? You deserve better than John, Mom?”

“Madeline this is MY life. Do not do this thing you do where you try to make it ALL about how hurt you are.”

“Shut up! Jesus fucking Christ!” Christophe slammed his fork down. “Is this all you do? Show up to make everyone miserable? Come here to make Madeline cry?”

“Christophe, don’t," Madeline whispered.

“She’s a miserable fucking bat and she’s doing this to cause drama. What a happy day for John to finally be fucking rid of you!!” Christophe turned to Lucinda, his eyes wild, and he broke into emphatic applause. And each clap was for his mom. For his dad. For the woman who hit his car. For Bruce. For the morning traffic. For the brainless idiot blocking the limes in the grocery store. “YAY JOHN! YAY JOHN! FREE OF HIS FUCKING SHACKLES!! HOORAY JOHN!!”

And in front of him, Lucinda crumbled. Into sobs. Into hysterics that seized her whole body and shook it. Blubbering, to the point of wailing. She kicked her chair back, and on unsteady feet she rounded out of the dining room.

“Mom! Mom, come back. Christophe did NOT mean that.” Madeline gave him one scathing look before disappearing after her mother, the front door to the unit opening and clicking shut. Feet on the stairs. Below them, Bucky bellowed woo woo woo.

And then it was quiet.

And then Christophe was alone.

With all the makings of tacos scattered around him, with guacamole going brown in a too-small bowl, Christophe was entirely alone.

Alone, he sat. Alone, he thought. Alone, his righteous anger slipped away from him like the tide. He felt naked and cold as it left him. He felt his cheeks burn. He felt his own self-loathing nestle into the shape of where his anger used to be.

He spat a curse. He spat another. He stood. He kicked a chair. He shoved the table, unseating one glass of water which toppled and spilled its stream in a ppttititktikt to the floor. He grabbed his head like the woman who hit his car, and he dropped to a hunch.

And when staying like this felt unreasonable, Christophe unfolded himself. He rubbed his eyes. He stacked dishes, and popped Tupperware containers, and scrubbed down the counter, and set the dishwasher to its 4-hour delay.

He showered. He got in bed alone. He stewed on every kind of apology he thought of texting Madeline, but his pride burned against each one. He stewed until his phone buzzed, and some sick part of him held the hope that maybe it was an apology from Madeline.

“I don’t think this is the relationship I want. I’ll be by tomorrow morning to get my things.”

“…Fuck.” Christophe slammed his phone down. “Fuck!” He grabbed his phone back and he sat up, and with all the force he could muster he pitched it against the hardwood floor. Its case exploded off, screen shattering to magnificent spiderwebs. Tinkling bits of glass and plastic scattered unseen across the floor.

Christophe was breathing hard. He was seized by the absolute sheer unfairness of everything. He wanted a do over. He wanted a different today. He wanted one more chance to not let everything go to absolute shit.

Christophe woke up on April 7th for the second time.

… ... ...

It is 9:10pm on the 274th day of April 7th, and Madeline has fallen asleep against Christophe’s arm.

And this is optimal, surely.

He’d said the right thing. Hadn’t made it about Madeline’s parents or his own. Was it always that simple? That she wanted assurance she wasn’t going to end up like John. “That won’t be us.” That was all?

Christophe should be happy.

He did it right, finally.

This is the escape criteria, surely.

Well, "surely" is a silly word for Christophe to use. As if the criteria were ever a mystery. As is he himself hadn't been activating the loop every single time.

April 7th would last exactly as long as he decided to make it last. That had been the case since his very first loop.

He's found "optimal." He has a reason, finally, to stop activating the loop. He can stop making today perfect. He can let tomorrow be April 8th, for the first time.

And it is about time, isn’t it? To let those babies be born. To let those people die. To let the people having the worst day of their lives and the best day of their lives finally move on to just another day.

He’s been feeling guilty about it lately, every time he feels the day hasn’t been optimal, and he made the choice to activate that power that sprung up like a wellspring inside him while he’d screamed and smashed his phone on the ground.

Tomorrow is April 8th.

Tomorrow everything moves forward.

Christophe’s palms are clammy.

He thinks about waking up at a time he doesn’t know tomorrow. He thinks about birds singing to a tune he cannot already hear like a rehearsal in his head.  

He thinks of everything Madeline might say, and he grows colder at the idea he won’t know what to say back.

He thinks about starting fresh, with a whole unoptimized day ahead of him.

It makes him cold. With Madeline snugged tight against him, Christophe feels so cold.

…

Christophe wakes up the next morning to an empty bed. He checks his phone, checks his text messages, checks the weather. He gets out of bed, and he heads down the stairs to the smell of brewed coffee.

“Morning,” he says, planting a kiss on Madeline’s head. She looks up from the dishwasher long enough to give him a “Morning,” back. Christophe pours his own cup of coffee.

“Oh,” Madeline says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe answers warmly, feeling like he’s fallen in love with life all over. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki.”

[joonipertree]

Sano Manjiro, the most frustrating man to have a crush on

You learnt that Mikey punched a guy who asked you out. Mikey refuses to explain why. Both of you are dumbasses.

Tags: fluff, stupid shit, getting together, friends to lovers, fem bodied reader, smut at the end, it's him just eating you out sjsns, slight Dom/sub undertones because I can't help myself

  Mikey was a dumbass. 

In every sense of the word, he was a short fucking dumbass with a deep melodic voice and great hair. The biggest dumbass in the world. You wanted to punch him in the face and kiss him at the same time. Genuinely, you couldn’t stand that man. In no way could you imagine him ever being a good boyfriend. He’d suck at it-----

“Oi, Sano Manjiro.” 

The man in question turned, face dead and eyebrow twitching. 

“What?”

“Did you beat up the guy? 

“I beat up a lot of guys.”

“The guy who asked me out.”

Mikey sat back with his palms on the ground and Toman jacket secured on his back. His hair had gotten long, a bit too long for his liking and he still hadn’t decided how to cut it. You’d already taken the liberty over the last few weeks to tie them in pigtails and braid them to your heart’s content. He’d just walk around like that without batting an eye. 

“Yeah, he went out with one hit. You could do better.”

“Do you know who you are? The fuck. That could have killed him.”

“He isn’t in the hospital or anything.”

You turned around, not being able to take a look at your friend anymore than you needed to. Everyone around you stared with either pity or annoyance. Sanzu, Emma and Ken-chin were utterly done with Mikey’s dumbassery and Chifuyu was done with yours. Baji and Kazutora were done with both of you. They just always choose the stupid people as friends. 

“You weren’t gonna say ‘yes’ were you?”

And you weren’t. The boy had very bravely confessed his feelings for you (unlike some people) and before you could even tell him your answer, he’d told you to think about it at least. You’d appreciated it and left at that, already planning on saying no. 

“Maybe I was, what’s it to you?”

“Oh my god,” Emma muttered out in agony. 

"Maybe you should nurse him back to health then." 

"Yeah I was already planning on it." 

No you were not.

You left with an emphasis on your steps, back straight and eyes hard because you were stubborn. You didn't care if Mikey won at being the most stubborn person in the block, you would beat him at his own game.

♡

"You know he likes you. He has for years. He knows you like him. Just fuck already." Chifuyu moaned out, having gotten over the shoujo vibes very quickly after seeing the slow burn drag out. 

"I dunno what you're talking about." 

You wanted to deny it. Not deny that you were in love with Mikey but deny he was in love with you. Because admitting it meant hoping for something to happen and false hope got you hurt. People got close, they saw you in your humanity and ran away. The only people you trusted not to leave were your friends, Mikey included. 

"Oh come on. I have given you a powerpoint presentation and a whole binder worth of evidence that Mikey likes you. I nearly got wiped out by Draken for taking one too many pictures." 

You snorted. Chifuyu being a romantic buffoon with an overeager imagination made it harder for you to accept it. But you did acknowledge, not with the binder full of pictures and 'receipts', that Mikey had a soft spot for you. 

You got close at 17, Mikey being an extroverted loud mouth and you being a shy but curious introvert. He took you on bike rides, talked to you while making eye contact, held your hand and pulled you next to him and you fed him bites of your food and let him sleep on your lap. 

But you wanted to argue that….Mikey was just friendly like that. 

It had been a few years before you noticed that Mikey rarely made eye contact with people while talking but always asked for your attention. You both were hopeless and were just waiting for the other one to confess. It was getting painful. 

Chifuyu's eyes shifting to the side made you alert because he wasn't good at acting. And when he got up and ran, you knew who came inside. 

"Hi, Captain! Bye, Captain!" 

Mikey sat in front of you, dark bottomless eyes staring into your soul. You looked back at him, still pissed that he punched a perfectly nice guy. He then eyed your sundae and you immediately pulled it closer to you. He needed to learn that actions had consequences and that you weren't weak for him.

  With a pout, Mikey placed his chin on his arms, splayed out on the table. It made you aware how broad he was, fingers nimble and boney and angular.

 Pretty. Always so pretty. 

"How's your boyfriend doing?" 

Your teeth clicked and with a roll of your eyes, you established that Mikey needed to get pushed off a cliff somewhere. 

"So you aren't gonna tell me?" 

"Tell you what?" Mikey drawled out, looking up at you through his eyelashes. 

"Why you punched an innocent dude."

"He pissed me off." 

"Why?" 

"Did you say yes?" 

"Answer me first." 

"I did." 

You glared, taking a petty bite of your ice cream in retaliation. Mikey glared back harder, only changing when he looked out the corner of his eyes. You were about to turn your head before he spoke up again. 

"It was an accident." 

Your snort was loud and unattractive, hiding your face to try and compose yourself. When you looked up,Mikey's face had softened. 

"I don't believe you." 

"It's the truth. Answer my question." 

You debated your options. Because maybe saying that 'yeah I want to date him' would be going too far considering it would be a lie. But admitting that you didn't meant even more probing questions. Like why you were annoyed at Mikey for punching someone you didn't wanna date.

"Why do you care?" You retaliated like a dumbass.

"You're pissing me off." 

"Good." 

There was another pause. Mikey's hand moving to steal your bowl. You swerve it away from him with no chance of winning with his reflexes and the limited space. So your hand went to grab his wrist. 

Your heart raced at immediate contact. You became all too aware of him. Aware of his delicate wrist, the muscle, the bone that jutted out, the blue veins against pale skin. You became aware of his reddened and bruised knuckles, his calluses and ripped cuticles. They were hands of a delinquent, that liked to grip things too tight and didn't mind rough surfaces and reveled in strenuous activity. They were big too, too big against your own hand and too rough for your soft skin. 

And they were warm, soaking into you to leave a lasting impression. 

Mikey let go of the bowl in favor of holding your arm, gentle and all encompassing. His thumb rubbed against your skin, causing goosebumps to form and a shiver to run down your spine. 

"I was fighting with Takemitchy. The dude got caught in the crossfire. My hand landed on his face by accident. I can show you Mitchy as proof. He still looks run down. Even I took a few hits." 

You saw. Saw the scratches on his face and the redness of his jaw. It made you want to chide him for not bandaging himself. But he always liked it when you did it. Your eyes couldn't meet his, staring at your fingers wrapped around his wrist and his thumb rubbing your skin. 

"You need to stop fighting in public settings." 

"It wasn't that bad. A tire or two got thrown around but that's about it." 

"Where did you--- not gonna ask." 

Mikey giggled, soft and gravelly. You were reminded that the years changed his voice in a way that was still his. There was a pause and you realised the question eating away at you wouldn't go away until you asked it. The secret you kept wouldn't help being hidden away. You were tired and just wanted him. 

"You know……I talked to the guy today. Went to meet him." 

Mikey's eyes instantly hardened, looking away with a click of his tongue. 

"Ah, did he tell you I knocked his brains out? You shouldn't date a liar." 

"No," you tried to keep your voice casual, "he told me that it hurt but you weren't even looking at him when it happened. He just got too close." 

"Then why did you ask---" 

"He apologised though, said he didn't know I had a boyfriend." 

Mikey’s lips tugged upwards, turning his head to the side so he could catch his composure. And you were ready to slap the shit out of him. 

“Huh, I don’t know what gave him that impression. We must look good together.”

“I feel like you saying ‘that’s for asking my girl out’ after you hit him might’ve done the trick.”

Mikey held his hands up in surrender, knees knocking against yours almost to tease. 

"I didn't hit him, I just repurposed the accident. Didn't want it to go to waste." 

"Manjiro." 

"What?"

"I'm not yours." 

"Since when?" 

"Since always!!" 

His eyebrows furrowed, leaning back with a huge frown like you'd just told him his house burnt down. 

"What the fuck?"

"You can't just make me yours without asking me first, asshat." 

"Everyone knows you're mine."

"I dont." 

Mikey took your hand, lips on the back of it as if it was a normal part of his day. But your breath hitched and you froze. Because oh---

"I found you first." 

Your palms slammed against the table.

"If you wanna kiss me so bad then do it on my mouth, you coward---"

And within the next second, Manjiro’s mouth crashed into yours. It nearly knocked you back, if it wasn’t for his hand at the back of your head, curling into your hair. You whimpered against him, his lips tugging into a satisfied smirk. 

Chifuyu had yelled out, “Fucking finally!!”

The sound of your lips parting away from each other was enough to make you want to lean back in. Your lips weren’t willing to move even an inch away from him. He tasted good. Like vanilla. And he had trouble keeping himself away from you as well, leaving chaste kisses on the corners of your mouth, fingers keeping your chin lifted up. 

A throat was cleared, your cheeks instantly burned with the realisation of where you were. Mikey glared at the waiter who just let him know that it was time to leave. And with fingers interlocked, Mikey pulled you away from the diner, sticking out his tongue to Ken-chin who sighed in relief and leaned against Emma.

You got on his bike without question, heart racing because oh god--

The door to his room slammed open and he barely paid attention to anything with his arm around you. You giggled as he lifted you up and swirled you inside with a flourish. Once the door was shut, his laughter was loud and warm as his lips crashed into you, hungry for more. And you let him lead you, combing your hand through his hair causing him to shiver. 

Mikey hugged you close, gentle in his touch and you let him swallow you whole and envelop you. When his tongue prodded against your lip, you parted them easily as if he didn’t even have to ask. And oh, he felt good.

 But Mikey will spend the rest of your lives telling you that you were the best feeling in the world. 

“Mine.” Manjiro murmured out, sucking on your lower lip so harshly that your whole body did a visceral shudder. 

You were breathing hard when you parted, eyes hazy but daring as you looked your best friend in the eye. 

“You still haven’t asked me, asshat.”

Manjiro growled, eyes narrowed and twitching. Your head and body threw itself back as you burst out laughing, feeling free because you knew Mikey’s arm would never let you fall. That led your neck to be exposed to the littering kisses Manjiro gave out of vengeance.

 You squealed as it tickled and felt your knees give out against the bed beneath you. He’d backed you up, without you noticing, like a predator cornering its prey for a meal well earned. 

You felt yourself sink into the soft mattress, hand reached out to tug his shirt down towards you. Manjiro just stared at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you didn’t understand and a grin so wide you could see all his teeth. 

“Mine, in every timeline.” Mikey whispered. 

And your breath hitched, speaking out without a second thought. 

“Yours, in every universe.” 

Manjiro’s eyes watered and he finally enveloped you, body a welcomed weight as he kissed you in slow languid bliss. 

“Good baby,” he whispered and you whined out. 

You pawed at him, liking the praise a little too much. Manjiro’s kisses left a wet hot trail as he went from your chin to your cheek. A wet sound heard every time his lips disconnected from you. You let him have his way, feeling his hand pat the side of your head. 

You wanted to kiss him back but every time you tried, he clicked his tongue in disapproval and you just laid there as he poured his love into you. You had begun to tear up because Manjiro's love was overwhelming and it was for you.

Your eyes closed as his lips met your eyelids, tasting the salty tears and pulling back to inspect your face. You mewled at the lost contact, opening your eyes and pouting.

Oh, how dare he 

He hushed you, hand patting your head again, lips continuing their venture on your face. 

 Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. And both of you became aware of the effect the intimacy had on you.

 Manjiro pressed into you, hips solid and confident. And you felt his bulge against your pussy, only his pants and your underwear in the way. it was enough to drive you insane. 

You yearned and yearned and begged with pretty fluttery eyes that had him breathless. 

“Yeah? You wan’ me, honey?”

And despite the embarrassment, you nodded with the biggest pout you could muster. And Manjiro melted just at that, ready to burn the world for you if you asked him to. In another timeline, he probably had. 

“Haven’t even been dating for a minute and you're already so needy.”

He didn’t even let you blubber out a complaint before your underwear was exposed to him. And you craved him so badly that your legs made space for only Manjiro. He appreciated it, boney fingers squeezing your hips before imprinting the memory of the wet patch into his mind. 

Oh you were so sweet. A type of pliable that was only given to those you trusted. 

“Not allowed to hide anything, okay?”

And with that, his nose traced the outline of your pussy, tongue peaking out for a taste that just wasn’t enough for you. Your thighs squished against his cheeks and he groaned, pressing his full mouth onto you. Your hips jutted upwards, a cry weak and wobbly escaping your lips. And with effort, you spoke.

“Stop teasing, jerk.”

The warmth was too much, you could feel him right there but the cotton was in the way. Despite your protest, he lapped you up out of greed. And your hands clutched onto his hair. 

“If there’s nothing between us, I won’t be sane.” You heard him say and it just made you needier. 

“Don’ want you to be. Please.”

And with that, his hand ripped your panties out of the way. Manjiro took a second to stare in awe at your pretty pussy. It was so wet, begging him to eat it out, practically drooling. Many thoughts went through his head.

How it would feel to be inside you, how warm it would be, if he could last long in the tightness? If he'd ever be able to survive without the taste of your pussy after this moment? If he gave your cunt a smack, would you like it?

Manjiro decided that keeping you waiting was the worst thing he could possibly do. 

Mikey was a lot more hungry than he thought he was. Your pussy was engulfed in his mouth.

 The direct contact was enough to make him moan. Your own got stuck in your throat, not realising how overwhelming it would be. When his tongue prodded inside, you let him guide your legs against your chest so that he could have more access. And then it plunged inside and you let out a warbled moan that felt too loud in your own ears. With a hand covering your mouth, you tried to suppress the little sounds tumbling out of you.

Manjiro’s middle finger tapped against the plush of your thigh and he pulled away with effort to say:

“No hiding. Be good.”

You cried out, flexing your fingers in his hair as he went back to the task at hand. And you let yourself voice out the feeling, soft “ah, ah, ah”s filling the air and causing you to tear up in embarrassment. 

“Wan’ to be-be good for you.”

“Mhmmm,” He answered with the vibration of his hum shooting through your pussy and into your back that arched almost painfully. 

The orgasm came out of nowhere, crashing into you the second Manjiro’s mouth wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

You didn’t even care how loud you were being, brain wiping out everything it had as your body arched and twitched. Manjiro only stopped lapping your cum when you flinched away, kissing your inner thigh before moving to you for a kiss. 

You let him inside your mouth easily, whimpering and pawing at his shoulder as you held him close. You shook in his embrace, muttering out weak and tiny ‘thank you’s that had him chuckling at you. 

“Did your Manjiro make you feel good, bubba?” 

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, kissing the corner of his lips in appreciation. 

[yanyandam]

Hi there !! I've had an idea in my head for some time, in fact it's one of the members of the bonten who has to sleep with reader because he must have information about her but ends up gradually falling in love with her. (I like all of them except mochi) ( I’m sorry my English is so bad Unfortunately, it's not my native language. ) thanks love have a good day bye bye !!

How dare you exclude my glorious king mochi? (I said, after using this as an excuse to not write for him nor takeomi out of laziness.) Here are small scenarios, myb if u were expecting a long oneshot, did my best. (yall can check out my bonten koko fanfic if interested btw its fiye I swear) ps: your english is perfect dear, im not native either

STAY PROFESSIONAL -BONTEN and how they handle the situation

You were supposed to be a job. Just a stepping stone in a long list of necessary evils. Manjiro needed leverage on a politician, and you were the perfect way to get it: beautiful, easy to manipulate, unaware of the world you had stepped into. That was the plan. It should have ended there. So why the fuck is he watching you from across the bar, his cigarette burning between his fingers, as another man leans in too close, his hand brushing your thigh? He tells himself it’s not jealousy, it’s business. That’s what he tells himself.

But when you finally glance up and see him, your face pales. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights. You know. You know exactly what happens to things Mikey can’t control. He doesn’t make a scene. He simply nods toward the door, a silent command, and watches as you hesitate. In an instant, he’s pushing off the bar, moving toward you with slow steps. By the time he reaches you, the other man has already sensed the danger and slunk away. Smart choice. You open your mouth to say something, but his fingers brush against your wrist, just for a second. A silent claim. A warning. "Outside. Now." His voice is low, steady. But inside, something inside him is burning. He should let you go. Should end this. But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to.

You were supposed to be temporary. A means to an end. A tool. You had connections to a rival gang, and he needed your secrets. Getting them was easy, Sanzu had patience, persistence, and an unshakable loyalty to Mikey that meant no one was beyond sacrifice. Not even you. You were a night of indulgence, nothing more. He doesn’t form attachments. It’s too risky. So why does his stomach twist when he hears someone mention your name? Why does his hand twitch toward his gun when someone laughs about using you the same way he did?

He wasn’t supposed to care. But when he sees you again, he steps in before he can think. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t even explain why he’s there. Just pulls you behind him and gives the guy a look that promises death. You don’t understand. "Why do you care?"

He doesn’t have an answer. But he does know one thing: he’ll kill for you, if it ever comes to that.

You knew too much, that was your mistake. Kakucho needed to know what this 'too much' you knew represented. He didn't want to go down the murder route, you looked honest as a citizen, and Kakucho hated hurting civilians, let alone women. So he opted for the first option he could find to win you over. It was just one night. One moment where he let himself feel something other than exhaustion and cold detachment. He should forget you. But weeks later, when he sees you again, he realizes he can’t. You smile when you recognize him. "Small world." He almost doesn’t respond. Almost walks away. But instead, he sighs and mutters, "You always smile at strangers?"

"Only the ones who look like they need it."

He should tell you to stay away. Should warn you that getting close to him means trouble. But when you offer him a place to sit, when you don’t look at him like a monster, he sits down. And he doesn’t leave.

You thought you were in control. That was cute. You were a journalist, digging too deep into gang affairs, and Kokonoi seduced you to shut you up. It worked, for a while. Until you found out the truth. And now? You’re broke. Blacklisted. Your career is in ruins. You were nothing more than a distraction, something to pass the time. That’s what he tells himself. Until he sees you again, working some miserable job, looking exhausted, and he feels an unfamiliar urge. He wants to fix this. He wants to fix you. It pisses him off. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t help people. But the next time he sees you, he slides an envelope of money across the counter.

You blink at it. "What’s this?"

"A favor. Take it or don’t, I don’t care."

You don’t take it. You just look at him, arms crossed. "You feel guilty?"

He scoffs. "Don’t flatter yourself." But when you smile, his fingers twitch. He leaves before he does something stupid. But the next time he sees you? He doesn’t walk away.

You were just another night. Another meaningless body tangled in silk sheets, another face he wouldn’t remember after collecting what he needed. That’s what Ran told himself. Until he sees you again. It’s been weeks, maybe months, and yet there you are, laughing, talking, not thinking about him. It shouldn’t bother him. But it does. Maybe you’re working at one of his clubs, maybe you’re just passing through, but the moment his eyes land on you, something ugly stirs in his chest. You notice him. Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? He’s rich, powerful, untouchable. You should feel lucky he even remembers you. But you don’t act lucky. You just tilt your head and smirk. "Didn’t think I’d see you again."

"Neither did I." His voice is smooth, unreadable. You nod, take a sip of your drink. You’re not fawning over him. You’re not desperate for his attention. And that’s the problem. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t need you. So why does he lean in just a little closer? "Tell me." His fingers brush against your wrist. "Did you forget about me?" You raise a brow. "Should I have remembered?" For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have an answer. And it pisses him off.

Rindou is not supposed to care. That part of him is dead, buried beneath years of cruelty, power, and the weight of the life he chose. But then he sees you again. After that one night. That night night, which was supposed to end with your bloodied body once he'd had enough information about your boss.

Maybe it’s in one of his clubs, maybe it’s on the street, but when your eyes meet his, something in his chest tightens. You smile. Not forced, not fake, just a real, casual smile. Why weren’t you afraid? Like he’s just some normal guy. Like he’s not someone to be feared. And for a second, he wants to pretend.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again." He leans against the bar, acting casual. Acting like he doesn’t care. You shrug. You don’t ask for anything. You don’t beg for attention, don’t try to use him. And that’s when it hits him. That night wasn’t a game to you. You didn’t want his money, his power, his influence. You just wanted him. The him that doesn’t exist anymore. His jaw clenches. He should walk away. Should kill whatever feeling is rising in his chest before it becomes a weakness. But instead, he mutters, "You free tonight?"

And when your smile widens, when you nod…He realizes he’s already lost.

[dreamweave01]

Hi sorry to bother you! But will something really bad and traumatizing happen to Mikey. Cause in everyone else’s timeline they’ve had traumatizing moments. But Mikey hasn’t (just an idea) but can Mikey like come home after getting attacked and traumatized and the only one who notices he’s not the same as he was is Leo. (Also another idea) In Mikey’s timeline I think Mikey should have like a moment where he almost dies. And Donnie maybe saves him. (Just some ideas I’m sorry for putting so much I love Mikey and I love your au) 😭

continuation of -> this post <-

I like to think out of all the turtles, Leo knows his brothers the best.

He's spent decades with them, and he has years of experience reading them.

They're basically an open book to him at this point :)

[yittiko]

Okay so random thought I had while thinking of Arcane

Donnie would totally figure out how to dimension hop, right.

So imagine that they never get Leo back alive. Of course, they could all slowly cope and work through their grief and live on and all, but that's no fun sometimes.

______

So like,

They lose Leo and they're grieving and they're falling apart and the pieces don't seem to be fitting together again like they're supposed to and what are they supposed to do about that now? The one who knew how they were supposed to fit is gone and now they're sitting blind trying to put themselves back together one crack at a time.

So Donnie throws himself into his work. He locks himself inside the cage that's his lab and researches over and over and over because he can fix this. He doesn't know how he will, but anything is possible with a bit of willpower and knowledge and he can fix this.

Raph and Mikey are coping in their own ways too but they've already lost one brother and they aren't willing to lose another to himself so they show up. They're there by his side with food or just company because the three of them can do this together, just you wait. Donnie may feel like he's lost half his soul, but they lost a piece of theirs too, and they're desperate to get it back.

Somehow it's done. Donnie's done it! He's finally made the mystic device that'll bring back his brother! No longer will they have to live with the twisting sorrow rooted in their bones or the unspoken force trying to drag them to their knees.

They try it out. Leo is there, joking around as if nothing had ever happened, like he'd never thrown himself into a prison to save the world even at the cost of his life. Their tears hit the ground before they can even speak and they hold their brother so tight he gasps at them that he can't breathe.

They think that they've gone to the past. They keep up their guard and they start to prepare for the worst but there's no key. No kraang.

Donnie is the first to come to the conclusion that this was an alternate dimension. Of course, it's odd because everything is the same but it's also so different. But, they let themselves relax, because there's no kraang and no end of the world. No sacrifice of their brother.

But, of course, every hero has to fall.

There's no kraang, no, but there's something just as big, just as deadly. Even with their updated powers they're still no match and Leo still ends up at the tip of the winning arrow. The brothers can only scream in anguish and frustration as they watch their brother once again disappear from their arms for nothing but the sake of the world around them.

They try again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Donnie is resolute in finding the happy ending, but no matter how hard they try it happens again and again and there's so many times that it's something only Leo can do and Donnie can't stop him from sacrificing himself again (it's even worse because Donnie is always right there to watch it happen, too close to be a bystander and too far to help) and Donnie gets more and more desperate to save him.

If in just one dimension Leo is okay, then that'll be fine. He has to know that his twin is not doomed in every reality, that the spirit of his entire existence isn't cursed to end as a tragedy at 16 because Leo deserved better than that. Leo deserved to be happy and live and do every stupid thing a kid should be able to do because Donnie refused to believe that he was born to be a martyr and not just his dum dum twin that was too selfless for his own good.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

So @ranharuchiyo on twitter who actually knows Japanese has been translating the chalk images properly! I won't post their exact translations since they belong to them (and you guys should go check them out) but in summary

Ran moves close to people when he talks, he is short sighted.

Kakucho is a prodigy in fighting, he can fight against Mikey and Taiju. He's also Yamagishi's favourite.

Takemichi makes eye contact with Mikey a lot and has a far away look like he's lived his life twice. It makes Yamagishi irritated.

Rindou drinks in the park, then with the homeless, then with people in a betting office and then again at a night club. (How much does he drink????)

Shion gets stomach sickness a lot

Izana considers his tenjiku members to be slaves

Sanzu is banned from meetings constantly for bad behaviour. He meets up with Mucho a lot. (I'm so glad they're still close!!!)

Mucho is the most personable person

Mochi likes yukimi daifuku (looks like some kind of mochi ice cream thing???)

Mikey said he only lost one fight once, to a guy with a regent head.

Draken fights with Hanma once a week, so far there has been 52 fights with 48 victories.

Baji talks to Chifuyu about Ryusei a lot, they say he was flirtatious and a jerk.

Chifuyu is close with Takemichi despite them not being in the same division.

Yamagishi remarked to Mitsuya that he "gets along with everyone" and Mitsuya replied "except you" which made Yamagishi make the wolf in sheeps clothing remark.

Hakkai frequently gets into fist fights with Taiju

Pah chin is close friends with Osanai, who's also in toman!

Peh yan has an alliance with Senju and Kazutora to win over Mikey. Senju is the only one who takes it seriously.

Smiley dyed his hair from apricot to a different shade or orange and then got mad when no one noticed.

(They've left it here for now but if they come back and do the others I'll update it)

[emilsendo]

Bonten x male reader, fluff.

Male reader is a florist.

Thank you

My english is not good so I kept it short sorry.

Hiya! Don't worry about it, I just hope that my idea of how the story will go isn't bad (If it is, please correct me💀) I hope your life goes well, take care! 💪🏼👀✨️

_______________________________________

BONTEN

X

MALE READER

Warnings: Criminal Organization.

Type: Fluff

Request: ✅️

_____________________

The bell above the door chimed as a group of six men entered your flower shop. You glanced up from your task of arranging a bouquet, your sharp gaze assessing them instantly. You weren’t the type to be intimidated easily, even when it was Tokyo’s most feared criminal organization—Bonten—standing before you.

Mikey, the leader, stood at the front with an air of silent dominance. Sanzu, with his manic grin, looked around with curiosity. Kakucho’s eyes were sharp yet respectful, while Kokonoi adjusted his expensive suit, unimpressed by the surroundings. The Haitani brothers, Rindou and Ran, exchanged glances before smirking.

You sighed, wiping your hands on your apron before stepping forward. “You here to buy flowers, or is this an intimidation visit?” Your voice was calm, unwavering.

Ran chuckled, spinning his baton lazily. “A florist with guts, huh? That’s new.”

Mikey, uninterested in the banter, stepped toward you. “We need flowers.” His voice was quiet, yet commanding.

You arched a brow. “Any specifics, or should I guess?”

Sanzu leaned on the counter, grinning. “What do you recommend for a guy who’s constantly on the edge of insanity?”

You gave him a deadpan stare before plucking a bundle of blue delphiniums from the nearby display. “These. They symbolize dignity and grace—something you severely lack.”

Silence. Then, Kakucho burst into laughter, followed by a smirk from Rindou. Sanzu gaped at you before breaking into amused chuckles. “I like you.”

Kokonoi sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just put together something decent for an event, alright?”

You nodded, already selecting flowers with practiced ease. As you worked, Mikey watched you intently. “You don’t seem afraid of us.”

“I don’t fear people,” you replied simply, cutting stems with precision. “They bleed the same way flowers wilt.”

Mikey hummed at your response, intrigued. When you finished, you handed over a stunning arrangement—white lilies, deep red roses, and small hints of baby’s breath. “This should do.”

Ran whistled. “Gotta admit, you know your craft.”

You smirked slightly. “Of course. Flowers are delicate, but they thrive under the right hands—kind of like people.”

Mikey took the bouquet, his expression unreadable. “We’ll be back.”

You leaned against the counter. “As long as you pay.”

Sanzu laughed, throwing an arm around Kakucho as they exited, while Rindou murmured, “I like this guy.”

As the door closed, you shook your head with a small chuckle, returning to your work. Who knew criminals had a taste for flowers?

[chefkids]

Claire is Carmy's projection of Sydney.

Costuming is one of the most straightforward ways to tell an audience what a character is like and what their role is. Claire's costuming choices show how she was literally just a clear blank slate for Carmy to project Syd onto. So come peel this onion with me.

When he first sees her after being away from him for a while she's wearing a green jacket, who else famously has worn a green puffer jacket all throughout the series and when she reconnected with Carmy after she left?

When he takes Claire on that post office trip drive through Sydney's favorite UPS route, Sheridan Road, she's wearing a brown jacket which looks very similar to the kinds that UPS drivers like Sydney would wear.

When Claire is at the party with him trying to get with Carmy and pursue a new relationship, she just had a denim jacket. Which we have also seen Sydney wear a denim jacket around him when they were trying to start a new relationship aka partnership together by building the new restaurant.

And then we see her white button shirt, dark pants, and the blue denim jacket when Carmy takes her back to the restaurant, which is basically all Carmy saw Syd wearing for most of the time while at the restaurant when she was in her white button down, dark pants, and blue apron.

When he cooks for Claire we see her for the first time in a tank top at the exact same time we see Sydney the most undressed she's ever been in a bra.

When she's in his kitchen she's in his white t-shirt she tries to have a somewhat vulnerable moment with him. She asks him what he is thinking about when he's clearly stressed and he deflects to just complement her. Later when he is with Syd in her white t-shirt in their kitchen at The Bear, he is vulnerable with her about his mother and tries to get her to be vulnerable with him and she finally tells him about her mom dying.

At Friends & Family night is the one time we see her dressed in the most uniquely herself way in a black dress, and she looks like she's ready for a funeral. Which it essentially was the death of her and Carmy's relationship that night. We also know that this is what Sydney will be doing at the start of Season 3, going to a funeral with Carmy. RIP Claire. (yes i know it's marcus' mom but the metaphor is still there and this is still a comedy after all)

Claire has very little identity of her own because Carmy never bothers to know her like he knows Syd. When Claire is on her own she's always in her scrubs, because he doesn't have much else of an image of her besides the fact that she's a doctor now. But he knows Syd well enough to know the exact designer brand she likes to wear and make her a custom jacket.

He knows about Syd's mom dying because he repeatedly asks her about her family and parents without even knowing them. Claire told him about her cousin dying and he basically said "damn that sucks" even though he knew him personally. He knows about Syd's struggles with her job history through catering and fine dining. Claire told him about her life as a doctor and the only thing he came out with was that it was a time intensive job and that he thought she liked taking care of people by helping to fix them. Which is exactly what he tells Sydney he notices about her later on. She likes to take care of people and to fix things like she tried to fix the restaurant.

He didn't give af about Claire's life or personality, he just wanted to project Sydney's onto it. Carmy wanted to want to be with Claire, because everyone around him told him it was what he should want from Mikey to Fak to Richie. So he chose to see and project as much of Syd, who he already knew deep down he liked but was too scared to pursue, on to Claire. That's why he took her on that drive and why he made her the Sydney's pasta recipe that he knew Sydney already liked. Because he doesn't bother getting to know Claire, he just assumes Sydney's identity on to her. And what he did come to know and do with her that was her choice, like going to a party with drunk friends, only ended up associating her with his alcoholic mother and his brother at their Christmas party.

And in the end he still realized he couldn't just replace Sydney in his mind with her.

[daydream-believin]

uh oh im gonna commit a cardinal sin real quick and repost art when i have no clue who drew it. look you just need to see it okay i’ve been thinking about it with sad wet eyes all month and it’s one of the top inspirations for. all this. geez…

anyway @spirit-of-the-hollow *ding ding ding ding* congrats you’ve just done today’s Secret Slime Action [Figure It Out, 1997]

man i didnt even send any of this to my beta-reader. if you see this im sorry 😅 proceed with caution and if you don’t like it meet me in the back of the 7/11 to fight (you know, discord lmao)

warnings: suggestive like a couple times. that 18+ ain’t indicative of any smut sorry

SO!

Touch-starved Headcanons for One Michael Afton (18+MDNI)

* oh 100% you know his ass is touched-starved af

* okay i know i only mentioned this on ao3 but LMAO same. but as i’ve said in fic before, it makes your brain a little stupid

* but the thing about mikey is he so deeply believes he doesn’t deserve it. or at least, that he’s not a person that physical affection should be given to

* so when you start showering him in love it’s a bit confusing to him at first

* at first it’s just all the gentle subtle little touches. he’s half convinced it’s all in his head and you’re just like that with everyone. but wait, no you’re not. he watches you (perhaps a little more than he should. babygirl get off those security cameras) and no one else gets the treatment he does

* a comforting back touch here, a purposeful brush of hands there. driving him up the wall.

* no one else is getting their hair combed through with your fingers and their tie straightened. no one else has your arm casually draped over their shoulder when you stand/sit beside them.

* what does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN

* it means you love him, dumbass

* and once mike realizes that he just gets so flustered

* you grabbing his hand to press a quick peck to the top of his knuckles? face on fire. you know, if he had blood to warm him

* you like him? youre flirting with him??

* hold his hand and do the thumb strokey thing. it turns his brain off.

* if you see michael hanging around, come up behind him and tap his shoulder to get his attention. he startles a bit (its cute) but once he realizes its just you and not a blood-thirsty animatronic he’s always so happy to see you. you don’t have to say anything, just tap the mask he’s wearing and he’ll move it to let you give him a little kiss. or two. or three. with the mask held up to hide the two of you of course. just like the movies. and there’s no need for the kids to see you snogging (eww, yucky!)

* and when you stop holding his hand, when you stop kissing him, it feels like you just branded him. the phantom feeling of your touch lingers. he’ll still be thinking about it long after you’ve left the room.

* a real turning point, a hallmark in your relationship, when you hugged him one night, and pressed your entire body into his, and he practically melted into you in turn. and then he didn’t want to let go, so he didn’t. but then you didn’t either. so you two just stayed there, embracing so close your shadow looked like only one person. he could feel your heartbeat against his empty chest and that’s when he really cemented it into his brain that he may have some bigger feelings than he wanted to, like he loves you loves you.. oh no… (i’d go on.. but spoilers lol)

* still, he just can’t believe it’s him. smelly rotting accidentally-fratricidal zombies shouldn’t have people who love them like that and definitely shouldn’t have people willing to touch them. you’re a loony bird, that’s what.

* but once he’s accepted that you’re actually into him and he gets nice and comfy in the relationship? hooo boy

* more like hoe boy— *sound of me getting shot and falling off stage*

* you’ve replaced half his thoughts. instead of reliving his most horrible memories 24/7, now he takes ample breaks to relive moments where your hungry hands were getting their fill. and your sweet face and voice amd personality too of course. but damn, touch him and all he wants is more.

* hands on you always. whether he does it absent-mindedly just so he can reassure himself you’re there, or whether he does it very much on purpose? he’s just a very touchy-touchy man for no goddamn reason (my mans can’t even get it up.. yet. everbody say thank you remnant healing 0////0)

* not like you don’t love every second of it though. “oh no my boyfriend won’t stop giving me affection” literally the most non-problem ever. like get out of here

* ever at the counter? making food at home or standing around the prize booth at the pizzeria? doesn’t matter where, there is a 90% chance you will wind up wrapped in his arms. michael adores holding you, nuzzling his face in your neck, right on those sensitive arteries. it’s pretty distracting, ngl

* and you know what? you get it. seeing michael just standing there, perfect prey for a ‘surprise’ hug from behind? you can’t resist the instinct either. it’s a ton of fun to hang on him and make him lose focus on whatever he’s doing. two can play at that game. and he loves it when you hold him, he absolutely lives for it. it makes him feel safe for once in this miserable horror game y’all call a life

* if y’all are at home? he lets you nose nuzzle him. even if he’s only got like less than half a nose at this point, still lets you rub your snoot all up in his. he’ll even initiate every now and then. it’s especially adorable

* sometimes you just lie on your back in bed or on the couch for some rest, and michael nestles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat. he loves your heartbeat. and sometimes you’ll hold his face in your hands, letting your thumbs trail over his cheekbones as he gazes up at you softly. and sometimes… uh.. well look he is in between your legs here too so. don’t look at me.

* ah but speaking of cuddles. you are now a giant hot water bottle. every night he sleeps with as much of his body draped over you as he possibly can, doesnt matter what position you sleep in, mikey is a fucking koala and you are the last eucalyptus tree in queensland

* at least he’s pretty cool. like you might be a giant hot water bottle but he’s a cooling weighted blanket. that corpse chill is pretty great for beating the utah heat

* so yeah. in conclusion. like. give him just a little taste of that sweet physical touch love language and he’s gonna go bonkers. totally mental, as he might say.

[hidden-oracle]

HIII!! CAN WE GET SOME CRUSH HCS FOR TOMAN BOYS WITH A VERY BUBBLY PERSON WHO IS SOMEHOW ALWAYS SMILING READER PLEASE!? if not, please ignore! ^_^

I'm not completely sure what you mean by Toman Boys, so I picked 5 characters from Toman the I see as like the main pillar characters of it.

Manjiro "Mikey" Sano

Brightest Sun

The moment he saw you talking with Hinata was the moment he wanted to keep you safe. Your unyielding kindness and love for others is unmatched. Always helping and taking care of the members of Toman.

He wants you to stay as bright as the sun. So he pushes back his feelings, scared they might extinguish your sun.

Ken "Draken" Ryuguji

Brightest smile

Draken knows what this feeling is, the warm feeling in your chest, it's love. Your affection is contagious, he always smiles when you're around. He's not exactly scared, he's just not good at expressing his own feelings.

He's planning on getting you a gift so he can see your smile up close again.

Baji Keisuke

Unknown Wingman

Baji wasn't sure if he should be feeling like this, you where one of Chifuyu's friends. You always brightened up his day when you were around. Unknown to him, Chifuyu saw him every time he tried to sneak a peak at you.

So Chifuyu been inviting you over almost every time he and Baji hanged out in hope Baji would confess.

Takashi Mitsuya

Embroidered Love

Whenever you came by the club, Mitsuya would get distracted, you always have the brightest smile. Lighting up the room. He feels his cheek warm whenever you compliment his work.

One day, he will surprise you with a specialty made jacket. As bright and beautiful as you.

Chifuyu Matsuno.

Living in a shoujo manga

Chifuyu thinks he's in a shojou manga, he still remembers the first time he met you. Your fingers brushed his as you two went for the same manga in the store. That beautiful smile you gave him when you allowed him to take the manga. Made butterflies erupt from his stomach.

The next time he went to the manga shop, he saw you. He is living in a shoujo manga.

[mysouleaten]

SECRET LOVE!?

souya[angry] x fem!reader

summary ... takemichi and chifuyu stumble across angry...and his girlfriend!?! and smiley doesn't even know about her!?!!!

warnings ... fluff, angry being a wonderful bf <3, smiley opening his eyes, takemichi and chifuyu being little snitches lol

takemichi and chifuyu have been staring at the same couple for a while now..

staring at how angry[!] smileys little brother was holding hands with a very pretty girl, they were looking at the birds from outside the pet shop

angry, who always wore a pissed-off expression, had a soft smile with his...girlfriend[!?], she was pointing at a blue bird and then pointed back at angry, probably comparing his blue hair to the little bird's blue feathers

and angry gave out a little laugh

"no..way," chifuyu said with widened eyes

"do- do you think smiley knows?" takemichi took his eyes off the couple and looked at chifuyu

"he has to right? no way he wouldn't know!" chifuyu exclaimed

chifuyu had said that in fact a little too loud and that made angry turn around to the sound of a familiar voice but he saw nobody that he could recognize

"what's wrong souya?" you ask

"hm? uh! nothing, thought I heard someone familiar.." he said

you also look around, "oh, well, do you wanna go get some ice cream cups? they're having a sale for couples!!" you excitedly asked

angry's face heated up and he shyly nodded, reaching for your hand and letting you lead the way for him

"wow, chifuyu almost blew our cover!" takemichi hissed

chifuyu clicked his tongue and leaned out his head from the alleyway, he and takemichi were hiding in to look at angry and his girlfriend walking away from the pet store

"I didn't mean for it to be that loud!"

both of them now standing on the sidewalk that was in front of the alleyway and facing the direction where the couple walked off to

"im telling you! smiley should know-"

"smiley should know what?"

both of them whipped their heads around to see the commander of toman standing behind them and the captains behind him too

smiley walked up from behind the group with his bright smile and stood in front of both chifuyu and takemichi

"i should know what? huh?" he said

takemichi gulped, while chifuyu stood up straighter "we saw-ah!"

chifuyu glared at takemichi after he elbowed him, but takemichi shook his head "it's his privacy chifuyu.."

smiley started to get agitated at the lack of response he got for his question, "fess up you two, before I beat it out of you"

"easy, easy smiley, what's going on, huh? takemichy? chifuyu?" mikey asked, chewing on a steam bun

"we- its- we saw- maybe- we thought you knew!" both takemichi and chifuyu were talking over each other

"spit it out!" draken said

"we saw angry with a girl!!" they said in unison

.

.

.

"pffft! haha! my- my little brother with a girl?" smiley laughed "he's a nervous wreck around girls! almost as bad as hakkai!"

they heard a light 'hey!' but choose to ignore it

"little souya has a girlfriend?" chuckled draken

"and where is little souya and his-" pah-chin was then interrupted by a loud voice yelling 'souya!'

the entire group of delinquents looked up and saw angry, smileys little brother wiping ice cream on a pretty girl's nose and laughing about it, and the girl seconds later laughed too, angry leaned down to kiss the girl's cheek and then wiped the ice cream off her nose and took her hand to lead her away from the spot they where just in

everyone just stared ahead, with widened eyes, just like takemichi and chifuyu had been minutes ago

smiley was so shocked his eyes were open for a good couple before he recoiled back and shut his eyes

"how did my little brother get a girlfriend before me!?"

taglist ... @spqce-bun

just something short and sweet! <3

[holycrimin]

Is It Casual Now?

12!Donnie x Reader

(Friends-to-Pining-Idiots)

AN: wrote this on a whim bc I'm bored and am procrastinating. and also because we don't get enough friends-to-lovers fics lmao (also might make a sequel?). also might be ooc? idk

warnings(?): not alot, mild cussing?, might be a little ooc, mention of apritello but only brief,

_______________

It was a warm summer night...

Actually, who were you kidding? It was freezing. Okay, wait, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. It was still cold though, you stand by that.

"Want me to lower the AC? You look like you're dying."

"hrnn... But what about your experiment-thingy-thing? Wouldn't that like... affect it or something? Or was that the other one?" You ask, sniffling. Oh yeah, did you mention you were sick? Because you're sick. Sick as hell! Haha! haha...

No but seriously, you felt like you were dying. You bet it's not even that cold.

"Nah, don't worry that was the other one. It's in the freezer."

"Aw dude, Mikey might eat it or something."

"No he won't, there're like, a million warning stickers on that thing, he wouldn't—" You gave him a look,

"Crap." He ran out of his lab and went straight to the freezer.

Wait a minute, why were you here again?

Oh yeah, the project. And to hang out with Donnie, sure that too.

He came back with his experiment-thingy clutched in his arms. You sniff, "Dude—" "—Gross,"

"Shut up, anyway,"

"Why didn't you put it in your freezer? You literally have one right there." You pointed at the small metal box (that you're pretty sure he built himself) next to his desk.

"Because there's ice cream in there, and I don't want to share with my brothers."

"So what's your plan now?"

"What?"

"Should we like.. eat some of the ice cream to make room for your weird jelly-thing, orr..."

"Well I didn't think that far, sure, why not." He places the container down on his desk and takes out a small tub of vanilla ice cream.

"Ew, vanilla? that's so... Vanilla." You smile,

"Excuse you, that's for me. This, is for you." He says, taking out an equally sized tub of cookies and cream.

"Bro that vanilla has nuts in it, you like your ice cream with nuts? Ew."

"Oh nevermind, guess this is going back in the freezer," He takes the tub of cookies and cream ice cream and tries to put it back in his freezer.

"Wait, hold on, your honor I'm innocent!"

He chuckles, you smile.

"Shut up, dork, take the ice cream."

"Speak for yourse— Oh, oops, nevermind I forgot you had full control of my ice cream privileges."

"Mhm, yeah, that's what I thought."

He hands you a spoon and you notice a little red button at the bottom of it.

"What's this for?"

"For heating up the spoon so that we wouldn't have to wait like, half an hour to eat the icecream."

"God, that's such a good idea, you're a genius."

"Yeah, I know right?"

The two of you laugh as you both open your tubs of ice cream. Well, it was more of an attempt in your part. You eventually got Donnie to open it for you.

"Oh wait, my project... Whatever, it's the weekend, I'll do it tomorrow."

"And that's why you end up pulling all-nighters and get all grumpy on us when we talk to you on schooldays."

"Shh... SShhhut up. Eat your ice cream."

He chuckles.

It's quiet.

"Soo... How're things with April?"

And that is definitely not the way to start a conversation.

"Eh.. You know. The same it always is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And back to quiet. It's nice, but you wish it wasn't so awkward.

"..I should've given you soup instead. Giving you ice cream was a bad choice on my part." He stand up to take the ice cream (which was already a quarter finished, by the way) from you.

"Aww, come on Don. I can have the— ha..." You sneeze, "..have the soup later. After ice cream."

He snorts, "Come on," he gently puts the back of his hand on your throat, then your forehead.

"Oh damn, I did that as a joke, but you're seriously burning up. Yeah, no, I'm getting you soup."

You let out a whine of defeat as the tub of ice cream gets taken away from you, and hey, was it this cold before?

"I'll get you a blanket too. Why'd you even come here anyway?" He smiles a little, "And don't say that you needed help with your schoolwork. We already covered that like, a week ago? Get some rest, man." Before he leaves, he puts the experiment-jelly-thingamabob in the freezer.

"'Kay."

Why were you here?

Easy, you liked hanging out with him.

Why?

Because.

..Because?

Because he's fun to be around?

Might need to think deeper than that.

Who are you, my therapist?

You're literally talking to yourself.

Whatever. Because... I don't know, he makes me.. happy? that sounds weird.

Yeah. Keep going anyway.

This self analysis thing is getting weird.

And he's back. You smile.

"I got some hot chocolate too. Had to be quiet though." He covers the both of you with the blanket, and hands you the soup.

"Damn, you're cold too?"

"Yeah duh, turtles are cold-blooded."

"So you've said."

He leans back,

"You gonna finish your little experiment here?"

"Maybe. I'm tired."

"What time is it?"

"Uhh.." He checks his t-phone, "1:10 AM."

"Whatt... You're telling me I've been here for six hours?" It's fine, your parents were out of town. You liked it better here anyway.

"Also, I really don't think you should get that close to me dude. I'm, in your words, 'seriously burning up'."

"Ughh.. but you're warm. And I don't wanna get up." He dramatically lays his head on your shoulder, fake-snuggling up to you.

He gets a laugh out of you, he grins.

"I'm tired."

"Yeah, me too." Donnie yawns, pressing a button on his remote. Suddenly, the lights started to dim.

You let out a breathless chuckle, "When'd you install that?"

"A couple weeks ago. You said you didn't like how bright the lights were. So I made this remote to dim the lights, then I got distracted and made more options, then turned it into a slider... then just... booshhh... yeah."

"You remembered that?"

"Of course."

That's actually pretty sweet.

You smile at him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. I'm gunna.... sleep. G'night."

"G'night."

And like that, he was out like a light. You just realized how close he was to you.

He's next to you, head basically on the crook of your neck. Both of you sharing the same thick blanket, with the empty bowl of soup that you didn't realize you had finished, and the half empty cup of hot chocolate.

And now, you start thinking to yourself,

Is there more to this?

No, you're just friends. Right?

But that tiny voice in your head that's getting increasingly bigger as the minute passes, is asking you:

Do friends do this for eachother?

Yes.

Are you sure?

What else could it be? What else could we be?

Do friends go out of their way to show up to your school in a disguise while it was pouring out to take you home?

He's just like that. He's nice, he's caring.

Do friends install fancy advanced remote-controlled lights just for you because you mentioned once how the lights were overwhelming?

..He's my friend. I'd do the same for him. Well, If I had the smarts.

But the difference is that you know how you feel.

Well.. Yeah.

Do friends leave lingering touches?

...

..Didn't he say he had a heater in here?

[blueberri-blu]

Reckless ─⁠=⁠≡

[2012] Donnie x reader

Prompt 5: "How many fingers am I holding up?...I don't have six fingers"

─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=⁠≡─⁠=

Ugh. Donnie couldn't stand you.

Sure, you were his s/o, but sometimes you just got on his nerves.

I mean, seriously, who even tried to do a backflip without previous experience or practice?

Ok, maybe you didn't do that

That was Mikey.

No, you had decided that you would mess around with one of Mikey's Nunchucks, of course.

Mikey was going to "teach" you how to use them

The same way he "taught" you how to skateboard

Donnie overheard the conversation between you and Mikey

"Woah! Mikey! That was awesome!" "I know right, my ninja skillz are like no other, bruh"

"why don't you show me how you use them?" "Well.. magicians don't share their secrets... But I'm not a magician! I'm a ninja! C'mon, let's go to the dojo, I've got some extra Nunchucks there!"

Donnie had never left his lab so fast-

But by the time he was out, you and Mikey had disappeared

You were going to be the death of him

Recently you had been getting more and more reckless

When he first met you, sure, you were stubborn and reckless, but recently, it's like you were trying to hurt yourself

Then he heard it

Thump

And you groaning

Oh no oh no oh no

When Donnie burst into the dojo, he saw Mikey crying, supposedly over your death

And you on the floor, rubbing your head, with your eyes barely open

"Mikey! Go get me some ice, quick!"

Donnie leaned down over you, and examined your injury

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"zix?" You said groggily

"...I don't have six fingers"

"oh... Oops..."

Donnie sighed, and brought you to his lab

"what were you thinking y/n?"

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be fun"

"and how did skateboarding with Mikey go?"

"ugghhh"

"yes. Exactly"

"but seriously, why are you being so much more reckless ?"

"I just... I'm scared."

"what?"

"Don, we've gone through more life threatening events than pretty much anyone! Heck, we could die tomorrow!"

Donnie's gaze softened as he saw you getting teary eyes

Of course you were... What all of you had gone through was much more than any typical person should ever have to go through

"I just... I guess I just want to make sure I'm making the most of it, y'know? I want to have fun, and take risks, before I won't be able to anymore"

Donnie understood this was a normal response to all of the trauma you had experienced

"I understand, but you still need to be more careful! I... I don't want these stupid stubs to be your last, ok?"

His eyes met yours once again,

Only this time, you smiled up at him, cupped his cheek

And closed the space

"thank you, Dr. Donnie " you smiled coyly

As you left his lab, Donnie was stuck in his chair, frozen yet blushing from neck to ears

"o-of of Course dear!"

[bones4thecats]

Basically life in Rise! TMNT for our Reader;

Dating App Issues... Leonardo: Who would you swipe right for? Shredder or Draxum? Reader, who is holding grudges on both: I would delete the app.

Sharkboy and Lavagirl = Scary? Cassandra Jones: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Foot Clan! Reader: Okay. Cassandra Jones: And make out during the scary parts. Foot Clan! Reader: Th- Foot Clan! Reader: The scary parts... Foot Clan! Reader: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl...?

Student Appreciation Day (Strictly Platonic) Casey Jones: You know, Y/N gives April flowers each year, I wish you'd do that too. Leonardo: Okay. *Later* Leonardo: *gives April flowers* April O'Neil: ??? Leonardo: I don't know, I'm confused as well.

Is Being Smart Attractive Now? Reader: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know! Donatello: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus. Reader: Stop. Various ROTTMNT Characters After Being Asked About Their Confession... Donatello: Yeah, you're lucky. I like you. Raphael: I'd understand if you didn't feel the same way... Casey Jones: *has a panic attack* What confession? Leonardo: *winks* I know, babe. You like me too. Baron Draxum: So what? Are you going to date me or not? Shredder: It was a dare.

Tracking the S/O... Raphael: You can track Y/N? Donatello: Of course I can. If the NSA can do it, so can I.

Rescue Mission Gone Wrong... Splinter, alongside his sons and April: What have you done with Y/N? Baron Draxum: Nothing. Why, do you think I should?

Kinky~ Reader: Are we fighting or flirting? Shredder: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- Reader: Your point?

When Donnie Tells Mikey About His Crush... Michelangelo, talking about the new human friend, Reader: Why don’t you go talk to them? Donatello, sarcastically: Oh. Yeah, sure. Michelangelo: What? So you go tell them they’re cute, what’s the worst that could happen? Donatello: They could hear me.

Word-Jumble Time! Donatello: I truly hate it here <3 Leonardo: Now replace 'it' with 'women'. Not so funny now, is it? Michelangelo: Now replace 'it' with 'women'. Not so funny now, is women? Raphael: Now replace 'funny' with 'women'. Not so women now, is funny? Donatello: I’m having a fucking stroke. Reader: Now replace 'stroke' with 'baby'. Congrats!

Tea-Time Therapy with the Reader... Reader, talking to Splinter over tea: You know what your problem is? Splinter: I only have one?

Oroku Saki and Reader's Development Be Like; Reader: Shredder has only knocked me out three time this week. Our friendship is really developing.

Arachnophobia At It's Finest... Casey Jones: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated! Reader, with Arachnophobia: Killed without hesitation.

Neon-Leon's Rarest Moment; Having An Idea... Leonardo: Hold on! I’m having one of those things... a headache with pictures. Reader: What the fuck? Donatello: He's having an idea.

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (2/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & oc big thank you to  @soldrawss for the art included in this chapter and to  @mykimouser for making me insane about neutral!michelangelo at all hours of the day title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2031

Mikey is looking for his little brother. It seems like he spends half his life doing that these days. 

The TV is on in Splinter’s room, door ajar but equally as unapproachable as the door to Donnie’s lab, which is shut tight, as usual. Raph’s door is standing open, but his room is empty, because he leaves early for work on the weekdays. 

Mikey maneuvers past the closed doors and empty rooms like a professional. He doesn’t even have to think too hard about it anymore. 

Rounding the corner to the dining room, Mikey’s stride slows and relief punches an exhale out of him. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he deflates like a balloon. 

Gio is asleep at the table, face half-buried in his folded arms, crossbow and maintenance supplies spread out in front of him. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. He rarely stays in his own room, as if he’s afraid of taking up space that isn’t really his. As if they’re going to change their mind and tell him they do still need it for storage, actually, and he wants to be ready when they do. Mikey’s pretty sure he never fully unpacked his bag. 

Sometimes he leaves the lair entirely, and since he’s the most unreliable texter Mikey knows, and has never met a phone call he would answer without a gun held to his head, he might as well fall completely off the grid each time he’s gone. Mikey stays up on those nights, keeping busy in the kitchen, worrying worrying worrying. 

He feels too much like Raph when he doesn’t know where the kid is. He understands intimately how overbearing big brothers could be, remembers how a tiny rift had formed between him and Raph when they were young because of it—childish and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things to come, but devastating at the time. 

So he tries to channel Leo instead, who had always trusted Mikey to know when to ask for help if he needed it. Tries to make sure Gio never feels like he can’t come home again, with a smile ready for him as soon as he slips silently back through the door. 

But last night Gio must have stayed in. There’s a blanket draped over him that Mikey didn’t put there, and Splinter almost certainly hadn’t left his room to put there, which leaves two possible culprits. Raph and Donnie don’t know how to make gestures that Gio can see for what they are, hardly know how to be in the same room as the kid without seeing a ghost superimposed where he’s standing. It leaves a lot of the emotional heavy-lifting on Mikey’s shoulders, but it’s fine. A brother could never be a burden to him. 

Mikey can’t give Gio everything he deserves to have, everything that should have been his from the very beginning, but he can give him some things. 

And we’ll start, Mikey thinks with the kind of absurd resilience that wouldn’t have been out of place at the actual end of the world, with breakfast. 

Gio wasn’t trained in ninja like the rest of them were but his senses are as sharp as any other turtle genetically modified for war. Mikey woke him up with a touch once and the fear response only lasted a handful of seconds but it was enough that Mikey made the executive decision that no one would ever do that again, or else. 

Mikey pulls a chair out beside the smaller turtle and sinks into it soundlessly. He traces the newly-familiar white spots on that smoky gray-green face with his eyes, counting and recounting them, even though he knows how many there are. Everything about Gio is at once brand-new and well-loved to him. 

After a moment, the only other sound the ancient Snoopy clock counting seconds in the kitchen, Mikey starts to hum. Three little birds sat on my window…

He can’t help remembering another morning just like this one, what feels like a lifetime ago. Mikey, all of thirteen, had insisted on being woken up to make breakfast so he could try a new crumble muffin recipe, but he’d stayed up too late the night before and sleep clung stubbornly to him despite the row of alarms he’d set. Their resident insomniac had been the only one awake, by virtue of not having gone to bed in the first place, and he’d parked himself in the beanbag under Mikey’s hammock and hummed the same song over and over until Mikey woke up. He had it stuck in his head for the rest of the day. They sang “GIRL PUT YOUR RECORDS ON” in the kitchen at the top of their lungs until Donnie sent the group chat a PDF of a noise complaint form, completely filled out. 

Mikey hadn’t realized he was taking any of it for granted back then. He would do anything— anything—to wake up that way again. Just one more time. 

Beside him, Gio stirs. Once he’s awake he’s alert fast, those big dark eyes sliding open and staying that way, head coming up off the pillow of his arms. He has that look on his face that Mikey would be tempted to call earnest on anyone else. 

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” Mikey says brightly, reaching over to rub the back of his fingers against a spotted cheek affectionately. “I was craving breakfast empanadas today and was hoping my best sous chef would be willing to help me out.” Then, deliberately light-hearted, he adds, “Little turtles who skip dinner have to eat extra breakfast, you know. That’s house rule number one.”

Gio blinks at him, his face giving nothing away to the casual observer. 

“I thought house rule number one was ‘always get it in writing’.” 

Mikey’s smile widens, surprised and pleased every time he plays along. 

“That’s number three, actually. Right behind ‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded and replayed at family functions.’ If you want, I can tell you exactly why that one’s a rule, and why it’s entirely Donnie’s fault.”

Gio does that thing where he assesses Mikey’s expression and tone as though he’s looking for the trap. Mikey weathers it, makes sure his smile doesn’t slip an inch. 

Donatello is more of an urban legend to Gio than his actual living brother. After a few hesitant attempts to approach the older turtle that had been shut down completely each time, Gio made the informed decision that that road was closed permanently. 

Sometimes Mikey will tell a story, or April, on one of her increasingly sporadic visits to the lair, will lean over and show him a video on her phone, and Gio will listen or watch like he has no idea who the guy they’re talking about could possibly be. 

They do their best, but there’s no way to really introduce the Donnie that they know to Gio, because that Donnie only still exists in their stories and videos. The Donatello who was silly, who loved music and theater, who burst into the living room with some new invention or gadget to boast about, had been replaced by one who rarely spoke, who didn’t even have Spotify on his phone anymore since it took up too much space, who kept the lair running only because it was where his family lived but not because he had any lasting attachment to the place, and he certainly didn’t make any unnecessary tech just for fun. 

I know you’re still in there, Mikey thinks sometimes. 

He’ll bring Donnie lunch and leave it on the table in the lab, and then hold out his arms. Sometimes, Donnie won’t look at him. Sometimes, Donnie will put his tools down and let his little brother crowd in for a hug. He’ll tuck Mikey under his chin and hold him tight, like they were children again and nothing was wrong that couldn’t be made right. 

Thank you for staying, Mikey will think, clinging for every second he’s allowed to. I know it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

The grief is always encroaching, like floodwaters. Rising slow and steady, swallowing up cars and street signs and single level houses, changing the landscape of his hometown until it’s an unfamiliar place. No end in sight. No sign of land. 

Someone send us a boat, Mikey wants to cry hysterically. But he knows how stupid that is.

He is the boat. 

—

When he met Giorgio for the first time, Mikey was twenty-five and Leo had been dead for ten years.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. His fingers felt numb around the phone. “Could you say that again?”

“A turtle,” Hueso had replied shortly. “I would not have called, but he has familiar eyes. He is not aware of any family in the area. Would you like me to ask him to wait for you?”

Mikey hadn’t tried his portals again since the last disastrous time—since Raph had made him promise to stop—so he knew it couldn’t be Leo. He knew it. Hueso would be able to pick his sobrino out of a million turtles and would have led the call with that. And Leo wouldn’t have stopped for pizza before running back to them, he wouldn’t have stopped for anything. Leo would have been the one to let them know Leo was home. 

Still, there was a tiny warbling hope in the bottom of his heart that wailed “maybe, maybe, maybe.” Still, it hurt to feel that hope shrivel up and die when Mikey slammed into the private dining room and found Hueso talking to an unfamiliar mutant with white spots and a black shell and—it was undeniable—Hamato Yoshi’s eyes. 

The turtle was small, dressed in dark grays and greens, a strap across his chest that made it clear he was armed by something resting out of sight on his back. He stood with his arms crossed, in a manner that was probably supposed to read as stubborn or defiant, but Mikey clocked instantly as nervous. 

This kid didn’t know what he was doing here or who the hell Mikey was and he looked about as comfortable with all the attention as Donnie would have been at that age. 

Mikey felt himself soften, some distant part of his heart sitting in disuse and disrepair lurching to life again. Ancestral magic that he had largely turned his back on suddenly stirred, ninpo reaching out fragile feelers toward the person in the room that it recognized as immediately as if it was looking at its own self in a mirror. 

“This is one of my creations,” Draxum announced, confirming what Mikey’s heart had already decided. “It must have survived after all.”

“Elaborate,” Mikey said, in a tone that didn’t match the gentle smile he had for the spotted turtle. 

“How old are you?” the alchemist had asked instead, which seemed an odd first question to have and didn’t explain literally anything. 

“Eighteen,” the spotted turtle replied. Mikey’s brow made a bid for his hairline. He would have been less surprised if the kid had said fifteen. Was he that scrawny as an eighteen year old?

“You hatched at about the same time as the red one,” Draxum said dispassionately, “so you should have been about his age, and he is twenty-seven. And how did you come to be here?”

Gio’s eyes slid away from him, over to Mikey. Mikey didn’t know what his face was doing. He hoped it was encouraging. 

“I went through a yellow door,” Gio said. “And I ended up here.” 

“By yellow door, I’m assuming you mean a rift in space-time,” Draxum said. “What possessed you to walk into it?”

“Felt safe,” Gio said, and that was the last thing he said about it, expression closing up in a way Mikey was intimately familiar with as I’m done talking and liable to bite if provoked. But Draxum was a lot of things, genius among them, and seemed to already have an idea of what had happened. 

Portals could be capricious. The night of Splinter’s mutation and escape from the Hidden City, a machine in Draxum’s original lab had gone haywire as the structure collapsed. Draxum watched as it snatched up various tools and equipment and finally one of the experiment enclosures that Splinter had not been able to reach in time to save its occupant with the four he already carried. 

With the machine destroyed, it was impossible to even begin tracking the experiment down to wherever it had ended up. And there were unfortunately small odds that the creature would have survived long on its own wherever the portal deposited it. Draxum had written it off as dead. 

But there he was. Ten years displaced, but living and healthy and whole. Apparently he’d been in another dimension all this time, and only came back again because a portal he encountered had looked inviting. 

—

And now he’s in Mikey’s kitchen, listening studiously to his brother’s chatter and following instructions with exacting precision, still wearing the ridiculously oversized red sweater Mikey bundled him into the day before. It made Raph’s face do something funny when he saw Gio in it at lunch, but he hadn’t said anything when he saw Mikey hauling it out of the dryer earlier that morning, and he didn’t say anything at the table either.  

Over the years and countless wash cycles it’s been worn to unbelievable softness. It used to be that Raph couldn’t keep it in his closet if he tried, caught as it was in a constant rotation between little siblings who loved to wear it, floppy sleeves and sagging hem and all. It’s almost strange to see it again, here under the kitchen lights in this new country they all live in. 

Stealing clothes was a baby brother right of passage. And it was just collecting dust in storage anyway. 

Gio sees Mikey looking and glances down self-consciously. Then he jolts, and drops the ball of dough in his hands, lifting and twisting his left arm to put it more in the light. Near the elbow of the sleeve is a smudge of flour. 

He thumbs at the spot, preoccupied by it. His body language is shrinking because he always makes himself a smaller target when he starts to get anxious. 

One day, Mikey is going to find whoever taught him to do that and have words. For now, he rounds the island to Gio’s side and leans against it so he can duck down and peer into that little spotted face. He makes sure to plant his own elbow in the flour dusted across the butcher block counter, sending up a little poof of it as he does. 

“Hey, sweet kid, don’t worry about this old thing. It’s already been through everything you can possibly think of,” Mikey reassures, tweaking the hood playfully. “It survived the Paintball War of 2017, it’ll hold up to a little baking accident.”

Gio’s dark eyes lift to meet his, attentive and absorbing everything he sees and so, so careful. 

“Raphael won’t get mad?” 

Mikey keeps smiling, even though he’d like to start crying. 

Of course he won’t, he wants to say. He’s your big brother and he loves you. He’d move heaven and earth for you. He doesn’t know how to say it these days—he doesn’t trust himself to hold people the way he used to, doesn’t know who he is anymore since the shield he used to be was broken—but he’s still Raph. Our Raphie. I promise, it’s still him. 

Gio had never been lifted up into strong arms and tossed in the air until he laughed, caught safely and held tight like those arms would never get tired of holding him. He had never crawled under the blankets in a room humming and blinking with electronics after a nightmare, resting his head on a broad shoulder and falling asleep to a low voice rattling off his favorite explanation of gravity—a force that held everything down, pulled everything together, that could always be counted upon to keep you. He had never snuck out for brunch, just him and someone who saw him more clearly than he could ever see himself, who knew when a stack of French toast and a string of Snapchat selfies and a little mischief was exactly what he needed. 

Gio had never had any of that. He had been alone since he was freshly mutated and abandoned by pure chance, and now he was barely nineteen and he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t have the first clue, but he was so willing to learn. He soaked up attention like a plant starved for sunlight, petals reaching endlessly for an end to the dark.  

I wish you had been there, Mikey thinks sometimes when he looks at him, heart breaking with the truth of it. We would have held you. You wouldn’t even know how to be alone. You wouldn’t be worried about a stain on a sweater. 

“He won’t get mad,” Mikey says instead. He channels his most charming brother, the one who could sell water to a fish, who could talk his way out of anything, who convinced his family to keep hoping even when all hope seemed lost. “And hey, if he brings it up, we’ll just blame the cat.” 

The corner of Gio’s mouth twitches, and then he smiles despite himself, as buoyed along as Mikey always was when Leo was silly with him, and says, “We don’t have a cat.” 

“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to get one!” 

At that point, a burst of white noise from the living room cuts over whatever Gio might have been about to say. It sounds like the roar of wind from an open window of a car going seventy down the highway. It cuts off, and then something clatters noisily, and Gio’s reluctantly amused expression vanishes into alarm. 

They don’t exactly get a lot of surprise visitors down here. He wouldn’t recognize the familiar sound of transportation-by-time-scepter, followed by the even more familiar sound of its clumsy wielder tripping and knocking something over immediately upon arrival. 

“Oops—helloooo?” 

“In here, Renet,” Mikey calls back, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s so he knows not to worry. 

The timestress bumbles in, scepter tucked into the crook of her arm so she has both hands free to fix her braids. She’s smiling all big and crooked and sweet, mouth open to greet Mikey the same enthusiastic way she always greets him, but she stops dead in the doorway when she catches sight of the second turtle in the room. 

Renet takes one look at Gio and says, “Oh! Well, you don’t belong here at all, do you?”

It’s been a long time since Mikey has felt like screaming at her, but the way his little brother absorbs that blow without flinching is enough to get him on his feet. 

“Hey, Nettie, can we talk in the hall?” he says with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “Georgie, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gio dips his head in a nod, slowly rolling dough in his hands again, and Renet follows Mikey out of the room like someone who knows they’re about to face the firing squad. 

“I did not mean it like that,” is the first thing she says when it’s just the two of them. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mikey does know that somewhere in the back of his mind. Renet is his friend and she’s never been anything but kind to him. If they had met when they were children, they probably would have gotten along like a house on fire. 

There was a time when he only saw the best in people, but the idealism had been carved out of Mikey when his portal to the prison dimension failed to open.

Some days, Mikey looks at Renet and can only see the person with time itself at her disposal, the past and future spread out like a choose-your-own-adventure book—the person with the power to help, to change things, who took Mikey’s countless, desperate pleas to be allowed to save his brother and held them tenderly like they were important to her and still told him no. 

Some days, that “no” is the most significant thing she ever said to him. 

“He’s my brother,” Mikey says. “He belongs wherever we are.” 

“Of course he does,” Renet says, brown eyes soft. “Mike, of course he does. That’s not what I meant.”

When they move back into the kitchen, introductions are made properly, and Renet makes it a point to clarify that she’s glad to finally meet him. 

Giorgio is watching them with those eyes that take in everything. Deep and trusting when he looks at Mikey, sharpening into something calculative when he shifts his gaze toward Renet. 

Looking back, Mikey will recognize it as the moment he lost him. 

“Smells pretty good in here, boys!” Renet says, swanning over to the stovetop. “Oh, is that chorizo? Mike, tell me you’re not making empanadas! I already ate on my way over!” 

“Then you won’t need to stay for breakfast,” Mikey sing-songs, feathers still ruffled. Then, because he feels bad for the way she deflates at the blatant dismissal, adds, “If you want to stick around, you can take some back with you to Null Time. Just don’t let that jerk Savanti have any, I don’t like his vibe.” “I swear,” Renet says, hand to her heart. 

“You talk about time travel like it’s something you can do,” Gio says suddenly. “Is it?”

The air in the room suddenly feels much thinner than before. Renet looks at Mikey quickly before answering.

“Sure, Gio. I’m a timestress—or, you know, I’m a student now. Basically an unpaid intern. But one of these days I’ll be the real deal.” She winks at him, and Gio gazes back at her placidly. 

“So you could send someone back in time? To stop something bad from happening?”

Oh, no, Mikey thinks. 

“I could,” Renet says. To her credit, she doesn’t sound as bone-tired of this conversation as she must be. “But I can’t. There are so many rules, and for good reason! One little slip-up could be an absolute disaster. It won’t do you any good trying to change the past if you end up destroying the present and the future while you’re at it, right? I’m barely allowed to look at this thing, much less use it,” Renet goes on, wagging the priceless time scepter around like it’s a rubber spatula. 

“But you could,” Gio says. “If we followed all the rules. If we figured out a way—”

“Georgie,” Mikey interjects. 

“I’ll tell you what I told Mike, baby,” Renet says gently. “It can’t be done. He belongs here.” 

Gio says, “But I don’t. You said that.”

“Stop,” Mikey says, not recognizing his own voice. 

But it’s too late. It was too late when he tried to open a door inside the prison dimension, because Leo was already dead inside. 

He was already dead inside, Draxum had said, clinical in a way that helped to distance himself from the hurt, but also distanced himself from the ones hurting, clinical in a way that made Mikey bare his teeth and say things he couldn’t take back. That’s why you couldn’t reach him. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t a point for you to anchor off of, there was no other end for your line to reach. He was already dead inside. He was already gone. 

Mikey stares at Gio, the tuck of his chin as he looks back down at the dough on the counter. He’s unwilling to argue with Mikey, but that stubbornness is an innate family trait. There’s no way he’ll give it up now that he’s got his teeth sunk into the idea. Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.   

When he was younger, he was so angry. He was bursting with potential, with possibilities, his magic a wounded, snarling creature in his heart. It’s not fair that he failed. It’s not fair that he didn’t save his brother, that his love wasn’t enough to punch through the prison dimension and wrap Leo in warmth and light and bring him home. It’s not fair that no one was willing to help him. 

Fine, he had thought, fine! I’ll do it myself! 

Renet had explained to him over and over that his power had more to do with space than time. Casey Jr. said that he’d been sent back in time by his Uncle Michelangelo, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Casey’s arrival in the past had created another universe, parallel to the former. That was Mikey’s power—he could affect and even create other timelines, which was powerful and amazing, but not true time travel. Nothing he did could change his own reality, the one he was living in, because he had already lived it. He couldn’t get back what he had lost. 

Mikey plunged ahead anyway, desperate. He could make it work. He could make a change. Even if it didn’t change anything here, he could find another world and save its Leo and—and maybe that could be a start. Maybe he would finally get his head up above water, and stop drowning for just one second of the day, maybe he’d be able to take a full breath for the first time since his brother disappeared on the other side of a closed door.  

He didn’t wait for permission or approval. He slunk off into a tunnel a mile away from home and drew the circles himself. Lifted his hands and filled them with power, until it felt like he was holding the sun. And it hurt, of course it did. It burned all the way through. But he was hurting anyway. 

A portal opened, a pale yellow window. Mikey looked through it, and saw himself on Staten Island, ripping open a hole in the universe and saving his brother. 

What?

He looked again, over and over, at least half a dozen times—and every time, he looked into a universe where Leo didn’t die. Where Mikey saved him, or Raph scooped him up before he went diving off the Technodrome to catch Mikey and Donnie, or Donnie flew back up to Leo with a rocket and yanked him back through the door before Casey managed to close it. Over and over and over, Leo didn’t die. 

So it’s just me, Mikey realized. I’m the one who got it wrong. 

Raph followed the detonation of ninpo and hysterical screaming through the maze-like tunnels and found him suspended in midair. Rock and rebar were flying around Mikey, everything not nailed to the earth turned dangerous projectiles, his arms burning and flaking away into pieces that disintegrated when they met open air. 

His big brother’s expression had been terrified as he pulled Mikey down into his arms and held him through the shrieking storm he’d made. One hand on the back of his head to keep his face tucked safely into Raph’s scarred shoulder, the other arm cradling him like he was half his age, like he was still someone’s baby. 

“Angie, it’s okay,” Raph had said, low and aching. His voice was a rumble beneath Mikey’s ear, barely audible but just loud enough. “It’s okay. You can scream, you can bring the whole damn city down if you want. But you gotta let go, sunshine. Let go, Mikey.” 

I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to! Mikey wailed, clutching at Raph’s jacket with hands that felt like two white-hot points of pure agony, clinging, holding on. If he let go, Leo stayed gone. If he let go, he really didn’t love Leo enough to save him. 

But Raph pressed his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and his next breath shuddered in his chest, and he whispered, “I know you don’t want to, I know. But this isn’t gonna save him. You’re just hurting yourself and L—Leo would hate that. He’d tell you to stop.” One hand crept over to cover both of Mikey’s, squeezing them tight. “Come on, big man. It’s okay. Let go.” 

He let go. The magic faded, dropping everything it had picked up back to the tunnel floor with dull thuds. His hands spasmed wildly, grip nonexistent, and Raph just kept holding them as he carried Mikey home. 

Mikey sobbed for the rest of the night, what felt like hours and hours. Raph reverted to turtle sounds when nothing he said seemed to get through, and Donnie crept under the blanket and plastered himself to Mikey’s carapace so that they had “A little citrus sandwich!” Leo would cheer, the silliest and sweetest turtle in the world until Mikey finally cracked a smile. 

His family made him promise not to try again. It’s not worth it, they said, a unified front—and as much as the words hurt Mikey to hear, it must have hurt his siblings and father just as much to say them. We can’t lose anyone else, they were ready to beg, because they didn’t know it was his fault Leo was gone. They didn’t understand how badly he’d failed them all. If they did, they wouldn’t have been so grimly determined to protect Mikey’s life from his own hands. 

It felt like a betrayal at the time, but he understands now. 

It’s not worth it, he thinks, staring at Gio. I can’t lose anyone else, he’s ready to beg. 

But Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone. 

What he doesn’t know is how to love someone well enough to keep them.