#mikey's jobs vary

[goodlucktai]

29 with Mikey and Leo please!

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

It really was his own fault. If Mikey didn’t want to be babied, he shouldn’t have broken his wrist. 

He was mostly just annoyed it happened in such a boring way, catching himself wrong falling off his skateboard.

Yes he’d decided to sneak off and find a sewer tunnel to attempt the full pipe loop a full two weeks before Draxum said the gross mystic mandrake tea would finish running its course, but he felt fine! His hands barely shook anymore, only when he overworked himself or let himself get too tired or too excited.

But from the look on everyone’s faces when he slunk home ungraciously dragging his board behind him, you’d think he was at death’s door. 

What was worse, Donnie wheeled him by the shoulders into the infirmary and deposited him right in front of Leonardo, the only person Mikey couldn’t out-stubborn, whose affable smile faded at once into that serious look that made all of his siblings straighten their spines and pay attention.  

If the skateboarding accident had happened pre-almost-apocalypse, Dr. Leo would have probably led with a joke instead of, “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

Mikey resigned himself to a ridiculous amount of mother-henning for the duration his arm was stuck in its short cast. His brothers took his newly fragile hands so personally, like they were the ones who couldn’t hold an inking pen or color inside the lines or even cook a meal more complicated than lasagna without having to give up in the middle and have someone else take over. Like they were the ones who woke up shaking in the middle of the night from some distant, half-forgotten dream of disappearing into fragments of light, arms radiating pain like it was their job, a confused jumble of grief and fear and farewell on his tongue until he went and climbed into bed with papa or Raphie and let them hug it all away. 

Leo said Mikey’s wrist wouldn’t need the full six-to-twelve weeks that a baseline human’s would due to their genetic modifications—“Thank you, Barry,” they had chorused in varying degrees of sincerity (Mikey, Raph and Casey) and sarcasm (Leo, Donnie and Splinter)—but that he still needed to give it time to heal.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” Leo had said, poking Mikey on the beak to stall the inevitable whine, “but you gotta give yourself a break, Miguelito.” 

He said it like his skin wasn’t still bruised like a peach and his shell all wired together from going one-on-one with an actual living nightmare even as he found the energy to take care of someone else. 

He sat there in the doctor’s seat, pressing carefully around the wet fiberglass to mold it to Mikey’s wrist, all his attention bent to the task. He always tended to his brothers’ hurts the same way, as if it was the most important and remarkable thing he’d ever do. 

Leo’s own casts had only been removed last month, and he was usually very good about following his own medical advice, if only because he knew his siblings would cite his behavior in a heartbeat if it meant they could loophole around doctor’s orders. So Mikey really had no choice but to sulk and accept the distant cousin of scolding he received. 

“It’s not a race,” Leo said, smiling at him. “No one’s gonna run off without you. Where would we go that’s half as good as where you’re at?” 

It was his knee-jerk reaction to smile at Mikey, like his day got better automatically when Mikey was in it, and it soothed that jangling, frustrated thing inside of Mikey’s chest that only got loud when no one took him seriously. Leo always took him seriously, was always the first of their siblings to believe he could do anything he said he could do, and that meant taking Mikey’s injuries seriously, too. 

He’d seen the way Leo had to run himself ragged making sure Donnie kept up with the treatments to his shell and Raph followed instructions on taking care of his eye to the letter. They were trying to spare Leo additional stress, but if they knew they were only compounding the stress he was already in and making it ten times worse, Mikey was pretty sure they’d shut up and take their medicine. 

Mikey wanted to be on Leo’s team, not playing against him. So he put his sulk away and put on his best listening face instead, rewarded when some nearly-invisible line of tension in Leo’s shoulders relaxed until it was gone.

Besides, it wasn’t all bad. He got to pick what color cast he wanted, and got everyone to sign it. And it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world not to have to do any chores. 

And when Leo announced to the lair as a whole that he was going to visit his tío Hueso and bring back pizzas for dinner—in a tone that made it very clear he was not asking for permission or inviting any worrywart older siblings along—he followed it up with, “You coming, Angie?” 

Maybe because he had been under the scrutiny of worrywart older siblings, too, and understood better than anybody how close Mikey was to biting the next person who tried to baby him. Or maybe because Mikey was the exception to Leo’s rules and he always had been—always invited and always welcome and always wanted. 

In another place, in another time, Leo asked Mikey to die for him, and Mikey died for him. 

In this kinder one, Mikey jumped to his feet with a grin and said, “I’m with you!” and it didn’t cost him anything.

It should have been silly to say something out loud that they both knew was true, but sometimes it was nice to hear it.

[theanimeroom]

about the NNN challenge

Could you do something Mikey? something like teasing him a lot and making fun of him, I think he wouldn't want to lose but at the end of the day everyone knows that Mikey is a brat.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT | MINORS DNI

NOVEMBER 20TH, 2023 - 4:30AM

NNN CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

okay, now depending on which manjiro sano we're talking about, his chances of winning and losing vary. but regardless of which mikey we're talking about, he still lost so it doesn't matter anyway.

manjiro had always been a stressed person, everyone knew that. he held the weight of the world on his shoulders alone, but you were always his lifeline when things got too much. some would say that mikey was a bit too reliant on you, but both you and mikey would beg to differ.

you were exactly what he needed. the drug that made him sane when his thoughts started to spiral. you kept him from doing things that he shouldn't, and always provided him with the peace and calmness that he needed after a long day.

despite how it may have looked, being the leader of a gang was no easy job. there were constant meetings and he always had to keep an eye over his shoulder because everyone wanted what he had. keeping everything in order became taxing every once in a while, and when his life started to feel like it was growing mundane, when his headspace started to slip just a bit, that's when he turned to you.

mikey didn't understand why you'd been silly enough to suggest playing the game in the first place, a curt "no" leaving him before going back to the work at hand. that didn't deter you though, pouting as you grabbed at his arms.

"c'mon, please?" you begged, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. mikey only sighed at you, not even bothering to turn his gaze as he continued working. ever stubborn, you leaned down until your head full of hair was covering the screen. the blonde was left with no other choice than to peer up at you, agitation clear in his face. "it'll be fun!"

he wasn't sure what your definition of fun was, but the way you looked so excitedly at him made him forget that this idea was a really stupid one.

but there was no one more stupid than him, for actually listening to you.

keeping himself at bay when you looked the way you did was hard enough, but when he added on the daily stresses of his job? he wasn't sure what you were expecting out of him honestly.

he wasn't sure what he was expecting out of you either, really.

if there was one thing about you, you were just as horny as manjiro was. you'd only done a day or two at most without climbing the man like a tree, so holding out during the challenge was going to be just as hard for you as it was for him.

that statement proved to be true when the end of the month started to approach, both you and manjiro growing more impatient by the day. it had gotten to the point where you were waking up with slick covering the inside of your thighs, desperate and needy for his attention. one particular day, a toman meeting that didn’t go as planned was his final straw.

you knew something had happened the moment your front door slammed roughly, your eyebrows furrowing as the sound of keys being thrown caught your attention. you were standing in the kitchen, slaving over the stove to distract yourself from the aching between your legs. before you could even call for him his figure was appearing in the doorway, legs taking long strides toward you.

his blonde hair was tousled, clearly due to one too many pass through’s with his fingers. his jaw was clenched, knuckles nearly white with his hands balled into little fists as he bum rushed you at the stove.

“hey mikey, what’s wron-mmph!”

you were barely able to get the words out before his lips were devouring yours, hands reaching for your lower back. a strangled moan slipped past you as your back touched the cold surface of the kitchen counter, fingers wrapping around the mans biceps. a heavy sigh escaped you when his lips started to pepper kisses down your neck, your body jerking with every touch.

“w-wait… ” you breathe, the throbbing between your legs leaving your mind fuzzy. your eyes made contact with the stove that was still heating up, waiting for the pot of noodles that you were planning on making before mikey had returned. “i was cooking…”

the man attached to you paused before turning his head, eyes making contact with the red light on the stove before turning back to you. truthfully, he hadn’t even noticed the meal prep that you’d done until just now, but it wasn’t going to stop him from getting what he wanted, so he came up with another idea.

“pay attention baby, or you’ll hurt yourself,” mikey cooed, grinning from behind you as he watched you struggle to keep your eyes open. your hands held onto the sides of the pot, grip tight as your cunt milked him dry. your stomach was tight as you tried to keep an eye on the boiling water, orgasm teetering on the edge.

curses slipped past your lips with every stroke, mikey’s cock hitting all the right spots that made you see stars. a quiet fuck from behind you sent your hips reeling backwards, yearning to hear more of his voice.

the food you were supposed to be making quickly disappeared from your mind as you fucked yourself back on him, whining as you forced him as deep as he could go.

mikey chuckled as you pouted slightly, a face you always made when you weren’t getting fucked the way you wanted to be. leaning forward, his lips pressed against your ear, voice low as he moved some of your hair out of the way. “you want it?”

you’d barely made out what was being said before you were nodding your head frantically, small pleas escaping you as you tried to find the release you were searching for. a hand around your jaw made your breath hitch, head turning to make eye contact with mikey. his expression was teasing, a smile painted across his face. “speak.”

your gaze glazed over, only the shell of a human who used to have dignity being left. your eyebrows furrowed together as you forced the words past your tongue. “yes sir, i want it.”

mikey couldn’t help the way his cock throbbed inside of you, eyes rolling at the fucked out expression you were making. you didn’t even have time to register what was happening before his hips were slamming against your ass, a rattled squeak slipping past you while your hands found purchase on the edge of the counter.

you could barely keep your cries of pleasure in check, your balance unsteady as a rough hand wrapped around your midriff. mikey applied pressure until you were nearly levitating, only the tips of your toes still being attached to the kitchen floor.

“mikey-!” your voice caught in your throat as he fucked you mercilessly, hips pounding into your ass as if his life depended on it. short moans escaped you, your legs quivering as you felt the knot in your stomach trying to give way. “fuck…fuck please i’m gonna come baby…”

a small laugh reverberated behind you, a warm hand reaching to squeeze one of your breast. “yeah? you know what to do princess,”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt a flick to your clit, back arching so hard you could feel the muscles straining. “please let me come! please i’m begging you…”

mikey hummed in faux contemplation, slowing his thrust for a split second before he was right back at it, hips angled in just the right spot while the pads of his fingers rubs circles into your sensitive bud. if it wasn’t a scream that left your mouth, it was as close as you could get to one.

spots started to form behind your eyelids, fingers gripping the counter as hard as you could. you felt the blonde behind you press against your back as your orgasm ran through you, his body heat only making your head spin more than it already was.

as your high started to come down his pace never slowed, a rough hand around the back of your neck making you realize that he’d been speaking to you the whole time.

“you here baby?” he teased, feeling his smile against the shell of your ear. “gonna let go of this stupid challenge now?”

you’ve never your head nodded so hard.

[dandylovesturtles]

“Oh, so one of our opponent groups is called Firefight?” Mikey points at the bracket board, where their apparent team name (Sidelined, seriously?) is written.

“Sounds edgy.” Leo turns his chair, so he can look over the whole arena. “Where do you think they are?”

“Let’s ask around,” suggests Raph, and with murmurs of agreement all around they set off.

It takes about twenty minutes of searching, but eventually they’re pointed toward a part of the bleachers with a sign, “Reserved for Firefight.” It looks empty, but as they approach they can see the forms of two turtles splayed out across the seats, not moving.

“Omigosh!” Mikey cries out, hands pressed to his cheeks. “They’re dead!”

There’s a noise that’s a few steps away from a laugh, and one of the corpses rolls over. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”

Leo looks at his double’s bloody head and the massive dark circles under his eyes and says, “Handsome as ever.”

There’s a long groan, and the Donnie double shifts next, just enough to look at them.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“We’re your opponents,” says his own Donnie.

“…Opponents?”

“For the competition.”

The Donnie stares at them for a long moment with glassy, pain-filled eyes. “…Cool,” he says at length, with absolutely no enthusiasm.

“Guys,” says Leo, rolling his chair back a bit to give their opponents some space, “can we huddle up real quick?”

His brothers crowd around him, arms around each other as best they can with their varying heights. Shelldon hovers in the gap made by their heads.

“I dunno, guys. I feel kinda bad about this.”

“How are they going to compete when they’re… like that!?” asks Mikey, worried.

“I’m not sure they can even move like that,” agrees Donnie.

“Is there anything we can do to help out?” asks Raph.

Leo racks his brain. “Hey Dee, do we still have my old transport chair?”

“We do.”

“What about the sports chair?”

“I haven’t finished the paint job, but it’s functional.”

“Okay.” Leo nods. “Let’s get ‘em. And maybe grab a few of those nutrition drinks, there’s some in the fridge.”

“Painkillers and bandages would be a good idea, as well,” says Donnie, and Leo nods at him.

“Okay, me and Mike will get the chairs, Leo and Dee find the med supplies,” says Raph, and they all nod and break apart.

Leo wheels back around and gives a smile and a wave to their opponents. “Hey, we’ll be right back! Uh… try not to croak, okay?”

The other Leo gives him the weakest thumbs up he’s ever seen and says, “Roger.”

“Right.” Leo looks back at his brothers. “We better book it.”

———

@tmntaucompetition @remedyturtles

Don’t worry, Firefight! Sidelined’s got your back! Or, well… maybe!

Can they even portal back home? I’m going to say yes. For the bit.

Firefight is such an angsty fic and I just came in here and made it comedy I’m so sorry…

VOTE IN OUR POLL IN THE PRELIMS TOMORROW!!! and a vote for 100 Feet and a World Away would be nice too ^^

[lemonandtheart]

Guess who only has one job now instead of two and is back! It's me!

I have made my own TMNT iteration! I'm still drawing out the comic. I've got a lot written but now I have to sketch the pages and line and color everything in. I'll hopefully keep making more fun little things to post before I'm done. The comic is going to be fully colored, so I made this reference sheet for the boys and April. I'll give some little fun facts of my iteration too.

April:

I think she should be allowed to be more girly. She's still just as brave and tenacious, she's just going to do that while wearing cutesy clothes. I also feel my April is a girls girl and as much as she loves her boys she prefers the company of other women. She's still into journalism and is going to college for it in my version, while getting a minor is computer science because 2003 April had a thing for machines just like Donnie and I want my April be able to benefit the team like that. She's also a little chubby as I am guilty of giving her my body type. April's nails are real and she paints them whenever they chip.

Leo: *Holds him gently* I am a Leo girly through and through. In my iteration he's 18 and his brothers never let him forget he's the adult but only when things are going bad so he has to take the fall. He's got very bad anxiety because he's fully aware that every action he takes could result in someone getting hurt or dying and it freaks him out and makes him very cautious and overprotective. All of the boys have fangs, but his left one is too big to fit properly in his mouth. He also has a hero complex where he feels an intense desire to be a hero and save people. He feels like he's always steps away from failure so he makes up for it by giving everything his all all of the time.

Raph: My Raph is more of a jokester than a menace. His face just looks like that by the way, he's actually in a very good mood in my reference picture haha. He enjoys sports and weight lifting, but he also enjoys working with his hands in crafting and knitting. He's knit all of Donnie's sweaters. He likes the quiet when he's home and loud exciting get-your-hands-dirty action when he's not. He's the closest to normal out of all of them, just a slightly angsty and sarcastic teenage boy who wants to throw hands and fool around. Ride his motorcycle and kick ass. He has an intense and deep love for his family, like all Raphs do. He would take a bullet for each and every one of them. He enjoys coming home bloodied if it means that no one else got hurt. His favorite way to interact with his brothers is to lovingly bully them.

Donnie: My Donnie must be wearing long sleeves, long pants, socks, and shoes at all points in time. I stole this from me as well, as I'm autistic and so is he and I have to dress like that unless it's too hot out. His feet are highly sensitive and he will cry from overstimulation if made to walk barefoot. He can feel every rock and it hurts. Sometimes he can feel the rocks through his shoes even. He wears shoes in the house, also like me (I have inside shoes and so does he). He doesn't emote much, his face naturally settling into o_o. He's very good at lying because he's so stone faced. He often throws Mikey and Raph under the bus for bad things he does and no one ever figures out it was him that did it. He's got lots of tech and spends most of his time in his lab. Mikey often bothers him, so he made an AI to respond on his behalf and add any potential activities Mikey wants them to do together into his calendar. Mikey does not know he's not actually chatting with Don.

Mikey: In my version, when they mutated they were all already different ages. Mikey was a literal baby, not even able to sit up on his own yet. He's treated with little brother privileges and he gets away with so much. He's a menace, getting away with everything because he's got a cute face and his little brother status makes it very hard for them to say no. They all speak varying degrees of Japanese because they learned it from their dad. Mikey uses Nii-chan to get whatever he wants. He is a master manipulator and can cry on command. The only way they can tell if his tears are real or not is if he throws up. If he throws up, they're real. He's needy and bratty and wants to be the center of attention at all times. If not enough eyes are on him, he causes problems and pulls pranks to get negative attention. Despite all that, he's incredibly sweet and caring. He's a bleeding heart. He thinks of April as his big sister, even though no one else does. Later, he gets matching bracelets with April and she gives him makeovers and when she paints her nails she paints his too. Like 2003 Mikey he likes to dress up and play roles and be silly.

[freedelusionshere]

I think Carmy and Syd are both pretty inexperienced.

Carmy was in robot mode and super busy staging working in controlled kitchen environments. Syd was working as a UPS driver (Isolating job by nature), and going to CIA which was teaching her about Escoffier and shit. Maybe she was at parties? Who knows, they don’t show it.

Both are classic overachievers and introverted to varying degrees (Carmy is allowed to be introverted and perceived as a genius, and it doesn’t hurt him, until it does. Which, I have questions about like the show does, too).

Emmanuel also seems pretty traditional to me. He tried to fake out Syd’s mom to change a tire by himself (a parallel of Carmy and the Michelin star mode in S3).

Carmy is traditional, I think, as a reaction to Donna, Mikey, and Richie, (which is why he doesn’t see himself in C’s crosshairs because she plays that soft-talking role while behaving Donna-ish).

I hope people don’t think sydcarmy are getting smutty sex scenes they’re novices! 🤣 Maybe if they flash forward. I’m thinking it will go funny/awkward/smoldering as they figure out the boundaries of their relationship.

[embossross]

The Art Collector

Prologue >> Chapter 1 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Mikey x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+ dark explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CWs: references to past cheating, drinking, author is not an artist and is Reaching for this character lol

✣ Story CWs: yandere, stalking, dubcon, kidnap, sex (ptv, oral), rough sex, and probably more to come

✣Synopsis: Mikey isn't like your typical boyfriends. He isn't an artist. He doesn't sport a messy bun or name drop Heidegger. He's just an antisocial IT guy. Or at least that's what he's told you...You may not know your boyfriend as well as you think you do, and by the time you realize your mistake, it may be too late for him. Or you.

✣ Word Count: ~6k and counting

It wasn’t raining or snowing, yet here you stood, struggling. You cupped a hand over the lighter, clove cigarette dangling from your pursed lips. This time you succeeded. A lungful of bitter smoke flooded your belly, and every synapse fired in relief at the familiar rush. You sank into a crouch, back against the wall as you savored your first smoke in six weeks.

On the other side of the wall, inside where it was warm and the harsh, unseasonable winds didn’t beat down like a father’s heavy hand, a dozen or so patrons wandered a little art gallery. It was the opening night of your first ever solo exhibition.

Thirty-eight minutes. That was how long you had survived playacting your official role as artist on display before you had snuck through a door marked employees’ only to smoke away the heartburn that flared in the face of phoniness.

To exhibit anywhere, even a dingy little art gallery in a dead backstreet of Kichijoji, one that saw less foot traffic than a 21st century Blockbuster video, was an enormous privilege. At twenty-seven, most artists slaved away at parttime jobs to afford cup ramen or hung up their paints for a life of housewife drudgery. You were so very fortunate, and if you were the type for positive affirmations, you would remind yourself of that more regularly.

The reverberations of polite dialogue trickled from inside, past the open door, to where you hid. You needn’t hear the exact words to know what they were saying. Trivialities as they strolled past work that dwarfed months of your life. Whether their comments were good or bad, asinine or nuanced, it didn’t make much difference.

Was it wrong to make art not just for the sake of its creation but in the hopes that someone, anyone, might find in your work the hidden messages that you knew were there, just out of your grasp, if only someone might decode them for you?

The breaking point that had sent you fleeing for the alley came from a smartly dressed woman, who praised one of your paintings as an ‘arcadian fantasy,’ as a ‘violent refusal of modern social organization,’ and return to innocence. She had categorized it as a clear response to the Tōhoku tsunami’s continued psychological and economic impact on the Yutori generation.

The painting in question depicted four schoolchildren at play. Lush green grass layered in oils dominated the background, leaving no visual queues as to the time of day, weather, or location as if the playground extended for eternity: back, back, back. The children appeared happy, but upon closer study, the viewer would find each child was built from an amalgamation of swirls. The swirls varied in size, but each one spiraled predictably at the same angle and to the same inevitable end. Using your most delicate paintbrush to measure to exactitude the angles, you had labored for hundreds of hours on that piece.

During the painting process, when you would stumble home after a night of drinking, you would get lost in those swirls, a sense of overwhelming mawkishness rising up from your gut at how each child was bound for the same destination. Everything was so predetermined in their young lives.

The spiral motif appeared again and again in tonight’s collection, going largely unnoticed by the gallery’s patrons. The only time your swirls seized attention was in your one interactive piece: four wooden panels, 75x225 centimeters, one fitted as a door to create a cramped room. Inside the panels were covered in tar paper and painted a deep black. Then, you had layered on the swirls in a gritty grey, so they dominated every spare millimeter of space, spinning and spinning. You had dubbed it the panic attack room because closed inside, you would be confronted with the inverse of infinity, feel the walls moving closer with every winding spiral.

The two “journalists” there that night – one an art blogger, the other covering for a university newspaper – both attended solely to try out that room. They thought it might make an attractive picture spot as interactive art was all the rage.

Speaking to them earlier, both presumed so much about your work and influences. You must have so admired Kusama Yayoi’s infinity rooms, they said; yes, you recognized Kusama as one of the greatest living artists, but no she was not a direct inspiration for your piece. The art blogger asked if, like the French-American sculptor Louise Bourgeois, you saw the spiral as a symbol of “freedom and control;” no, not remotely. The student journalist wondered if you’d read Uzumaki by Junji Ito as it depicted spirals in horror; no, you had never heard of it.

One of your friends, Shiyuri, had urged you to spell out the meaning behind your work on the placards that accompanied each piece.

“Don’t just name your art,” she had insisted. “Give people some guidance, some keywords, or shit, so they know they’re looking in the right direction.”

You had thanked her for the suggestion, even stared at a blank Word document for a half hour hoping to write out something helpful, but the words did not come. Behind each artwork yawned a question, dreadful and all-encompassing, and you painted in the hopes that someone, someday might answer. Maybe then you would finally understand yourself.

“There you are!” the curator boomed, peering around the doorway to where you crouched. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You won’t believe it. Every piece! Sold! Just like that!”

“I can believe it,” you breathed out around a last, lingering puff of smoke.

The curator’s beard twitched as he rushed to tell you about the phone call.  A mysterious figure had bid to buy every single painting on display for the full asking price. He hadn’t even tried to haggle! The man’s fingers waggled as he spoke as if imagining the bills he would count and caress once he received his commission for hosting your work. He led you back inside with a hand at your back and the promise of celebratory champagne.

Inside, the orangish lights cast your work in warm tones that drew out their vibrancy. People flocked to the paintings now that they saw the lauded stamp of approval beside each, the sought after “sold” sticker that warned them this was their last chance to see the collection before it was locked away forever.

The champagned tasted fine as it fizzed down your throat. Around you, the blogger and student journalist prattled about how artist patronage of this sort was so uncommon these days. The curator boasted how he put you on the map with this exhibit. Your show was officially a success.

When ten rolled around and the last of the patrons left the gallery, you and your friends made the short walk to Harmonica Alley, settling on the first empty bar you found. It was standing room only, so you formed a single column at the bar. Your group tallied six in total: you, your four housemates, and one of your housemate’s new boyfriend. An hour ago, you had texted an invitation to the jazz musician you were seeing, but he shot back that he was busy with a gig and couldn’t join. He promised to see you soon and capped off the message with a winking emoji.

The once quiet bar grew rowdy as your friends settled into place. All of you were artists, renting a house together, a commune of sorts for creatives not long out of school. You shared the two bedrooms on the second floor with Shiyuri and Kii, rotating the private room every month to keep things equitable. Then, on the first floor, you’d hung a curtain over what was probably meant to be a dining room to create a makeshift bedroom for the boys, Yuudai and Fujio. There was a basement as well, but by unanimous vote that was retained as a studio for your collective use.

By the time you ordered a third round of beers – on you and your new windfall you assured your friends – everyone was red cheeked and loud as only twenty-somethings on a Friday night can be.

Normally, conversation would turn to topics like whether the newest arthouse film was worth seeing, the status and inspiration behind your current projects, and any household gossip, but tonight your housemates were joined by Kii’s new boyfriend, Shinosuke, and he couldn’t resist asking the obvious question.

Who had bought all your paintings tonight? And why weren’t you more surprised?

Your friends exhausted that topic months ago but as Shinosuke was himself an art student, the kind who monologued about the virtues of sacrifice in the name of art, fashioning himself as a starving idealist in the vein of a young Yoshizawa Akira – as if his parents didn’t deposit a tidy sum in his bank account every month – he fixated on the night’s dreamlike events.

“I don’t know who bought them,” you admitted.

“I think it might’ve been that woman in the fur coat. She looked like she had money, and she said she liked the painting of the empty hallway,” Shinosuke said.

“No, no, we know it’s a man, and that he always orders everything over the phone,” Kii explained.

“Always? Wait, so this has happened before?”

You shrugged, too bored by the saga of your good fortune to answer, but Yuudai jumped in and answered for you, “It happens nonstop. Everything she’s put up for sale in the last six months. This mystery guy just calls right up and buys it all. I’ve been telling the universe to send him my way, but so far, no dice.”

Seven months actually. It had been seven months since the first strange purchase. The lack of name hadn’t seemed so odd then when the cash was warm in your pocket. Then, your next painting had sold within mere hours of debuting. Then, the next. The guarantee that your work would sell was why you could afford to exhibit in a real gallery in the first place. It also earned you enough money to pay your water bill, to no longer worry over the expense of new brushes or the cost of good tampons. You even stashed a little away in savings. Thanks to your mysterious benefactor, you were the most financially stable member of your art collective.

“How can you have no idea?” Shinosuke demanded. “How would this rich, art-loving guy even find you? And why would he buy up all your art?”

“It’s not that crazy. Some artists have exclusive patrons even today. It’s rare, but it happens,” you said.

Shinosuke pressed his stomach into the bar and leveled you with a smirk. “Sounds like a sugar daddy situation to me. If he has any hot friends, hook me up, okay? I’d sell more than my body to get my art out there.”

Dents in the shape of fingerprints mangled your beer can. Kii’s faux-outrage, more worried about Shinosuke pimping himself out than the insult to her friend, saved you from having to respond.

Maybe Shinouske’s dumb remark could be chalked up to male pride. It was the kind of comment that almost any male artist languishing in obscurity might make when faced with a woman’s comparative success. They all figured that success came entirely at their own expense, a kind of stolen recognition. The art world thrived on scarcity, and you didn’t entirely blame Shinosuke for his resentment.

But you wondered if Shinouske’s mind might circle sugar daddies for a different reason. Kii might have run her mouth about that time you slept with your professor.

(You hadn’t slept with your professor to improve your grades, mind you, or for any other professional advantage. You had slept with him because you were young, and you liked the way his hands shaped around clay in your pottery class. You had slept with him because it was lonely that first year at CalTech, where you discovered your English was less “conversational” than passable. You had slept with him because you liked the way he would gasp out, like a confession, that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever been with as you rolled around in cum-stained sheets that his wife would later clean. Like you said, you had been young. You would do it all differently now.)

The congratulatory beer doesn’t warm you on the way down. There wasn’t much to celebrate anyway when everyone took your success for granted these days, when your art would only be hidden away from the world in some rich asshole’s vault.

That was the other reason for the exhibit. You wanted someone, anyone, to see your work before it disappeared from your sight forever.

You excused yourself as if to the bathroom but made a beeline for the exit. A second cigarette laid crumbled in the pocket of your jeans, and since you were already off the bandwagon, you figured you might as well enjoy.

Thick cloud cover shaded the night in misty grays, but the moon glowed down unimpeded like someone had punched a hole in the sky just to let it shine. Still, the wattage of the moon couldn’t compete with the many LED lights that shone from streetlamps and storefronts alike. You had dressed for a warm spring night, but the wind had other ideas, stinging the bared skin of your arms and legs.

Once again, you struggled with your lighter, but before the spark could flicker to life, a hand, ghostly in the moonlight, held a flame up to your cigarette.

You screamed.

There were no blind spots on the narrow road, and there should have been no way to approach you without the sixth sense you possessed as a born-and-bred city dweller kicking in to warn you. Yet here stood a stranger. You raised a hand to your forehead to check for fever, wondering if you drank too much at the bar.

The man – because of course it was a man, you thought wryly – was shabbily dressed in a too-large black tee-shirt and joggers. The baggy clothes concealed his frame, but he looked small, shockingly so. Sharp clavicles jutted out above his shirt collar, and his gaunt cheekbones stood in sharp relief against a shadowed face. He might have been any age, a boyish prettiness put him in his early twenties, but his eyes…his eyes had seen things. Between his frailty and bottle blonde hair, he looked like he daylighted as a pretty boy idol.

“You scared me.”

He didn’t offer an apology. You couldn’t place what about this stranger unsettled you. The happy chatter of your friends drifted from the open entryway only a short distance away. Most of the other shops on the street were sealed shut by metal gates, but passersby ambled past the opening of the alleyway every few seconds. There was no rational reason to feel afraid, but you couldn’t escape the impression his icy smirk left on you, the impression of stumbling into a vampire movie and now playing the part of the woman who dies stupidly. His face of contradictions, his silent tread as he approached, and now, his undeniable presence all unnerved you.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” the man asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the artist, right? Didn’t all your art sell?” the stranger jerked his head in the direction of the gallery.

“Yeah, yes, drinks on me tonight!” you said.

“Oh, thanks. But I’ll take a rain check.”

Reality rebalanced itself as you laughed. The only horrors that awaited you were the hangover symptoms sure to greet you in the morning. This guy was just some starving artist who stopped by for a drink after the show, same as you and your friends.

“I liked your show. I’m not surprised it sold out as fast as it did,” the stranger said.

You don’t deign to thank him in the same way he avoided apologizing for scaring you. Strange to start off a conversation on such a rude foundation, but the polite niceties seem superfluous when judged against this man’s innate intensity.

“What kind of art do you make?” you asked.

The stranger chuckled. When he shook his head, the messy blond locks that framed his face swung momentarily to shield his eyes. The fine strands looked baby soft, almost translucent.

“I’m no artist,” he said.

“Really? If you’re not an artist, why do you go to shows? Usually, the only people who come to these sorts of things are other artists or friends of the artist. I’m not a big name, so it’s not like I draw a crowd.”

“I don’t. I just walked into yours because it was there. First time I’ve ever done that.”

“Ah, so when you say it was good, you mean it was better than the alternative, which is nothing,” you teased.

“No. Your art moved me.”

Such simple words. Such black eyes. They could suck you in. Yet the sensation of falling was almost pleasant, a kind of indulgence that raised goosepimples up and down your arms.

“What…what about it moved you?” you croaked.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know anything about art, remember? I can’t explain it.”

“Nah, I’m sure you can. All theory does is teach people to lie about what they’re seeing. I mean, I love reading theory to spark ideas or challenge my preconceived notions, but I think it’s more helpful in the creation of art than in the understanding of it. You go to school, and they teach you how to contextualize everything within these discourses, even if they don’t actually apply to what you’re looking at. As if art isn’t a visual medium. All you need to understand it is to look. Or, well, at least that’s what I think.”

Another half-assed dissertation on your work would send you to the hospital. This man claimed to be moved by your art, and you wanted to know what he felt, not what sounded impressive to the ear.

“How to explain it? Looking at your paintings, those spiral things especially, it’s like they sucked me in. But, rather than pulling me outside of myself, they pushed me back into myself, like the block hole was inside me, and so to look at your art was to look at myself. Does that make sense? I never liked art growing up. I always thought it was stupid the way artists tried to make something beautiful when nothing they make could ever beat a sunrise. The world is beautiful, I thought, but humans? We’re too ugly, too corrupted to create something truly beautiful. Looking at your art, I don’t see beauty, but I do see myself, every ugly part, and there’s something beautiful in that. Almost.”

As he spoke, the stranger met your gaze with unflinching eyes. You swore they swirled with all the same power and loss as your paintings. True to his words, they sucked you into their depths.

“See, you don’t need to learn theory to talk about art. Actually, you kind of stumbled into centuries long discourses about the possibilities and purposes of representation in art. And, while I’m not going to agree that aesthetics don’t matter or that beauty is impossible – because, hello, I am an artist – I know exactly what you mean. There’s a theory called the Formulation Theory of Expression that basically just says art is an outward expression of the artist’s inward feelings. When I paint, it’s because there’s something inside me that I don’t understand, and when I put it on the canvas or whatever…I can look at it outside myself. And then, I feel like I can conquer it or at least live with it.”

At some point while you spoke, you wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at chilled flesh. The cramped alley created a wind tunnel effect, directing all the elements straight at your lightly clothed body. The stranger’s eyes tracked your shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Yeah, I think it might storm. This wind is weird,” you said.

“I don’t have a jacket to give you…” the stranger frowned.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“How about we take a walk? It’ll be warmer if we keep moving,” he offered.

You glanced back at the bar where your friends remained happily ensconced. Through the entrance, you could see Shiyuri flirt with the bartender. The bar shaded in yellows and reds looked toasty, the simplest way to warm up. Your stranger, on the other hand, looked cold and somehow otherworldly, like he could never join your friends for a pint and a chat, like he was meant to wander the streets like a wraith until the sun rose and dissolved him back into the sea.

“Why not? So long as we don’t go too far,” you agreed.

With an illicit thrum of adventure, like you were doing something naughty, you took the stranger’s icy hand in yours and led him onto the main drag. You debated whether to head to Inokashira Park to enjoy the moonlight on the water or the opposite direction to stroll the shopping on Sun Road before deciding on the latter. The man let you drag him along without complaint.

You set a steady pace until you reached the shelter of Sun Road. Glass paneling overhead blocked out the moon and shielded you from the worst of the elements. Soon, you were warm, blood pumping strongly in your veins, but you didn’t let go of the man’s hand as his fingers stayed chilly in your grip.

An hour passed without you accounting for it. Childhood memories of Osaka and the free-wheeling college years you spent in Pasadena, venturing into L.A. as the mood struck, provided a benchmark against which you judged all cities. Since moving to Tokyo six years back, you were sure of one thing. You loved Tokyo with your whole heart.

You loved its tall buildings, the character of those varied architectural styles that never sought unity with one another and made for such an ugly skyline. You loved that it made a wonderland of the skies, climbing up, up, up as the city grew ever taller, loved that it made a playground of the underground, carving shops and restaurants out of earth and rock to accompany the subway system. You loved its people, who set the speed and schedule of the city. All that life happening just outside your door if you only thought to look.

It was a rare treat to visit Musashino as you sometimes went months without leaving your district, let alone Tokyo, and as you wandered about, you considered that your love just might extend to Tokyo’s network of satellite cities, too, thankful for the supportive flavor they added to the place you had made your chosen home.

Your eyes feasted on the vibrancy around you: the messy mix of old and new, high and low – a fortune teller’s impromptu stand blocking the entrance to a Krispy Kreme, a high fashion boutique on one side of the road and a hundred yen shop on the other. The smell of fresh bread wafted from a bakery only to be replaced by the heady scent of perfume from a department store a few steps beyond. A few shops had yet to take down their Golden Week decorations, and colorful carp streamers gaped with dumb open mouths down from those storefronts.

As you walked, the conversation flowed easily between you both. You would talk for a few minutes about aesthetics, and then he would return with a dazzling compliment, delivered as if it were the merest trifle, about how your art made him feel seen for the first time in so very long. He told you about old friends, who had insisted they understood him just because they were always looking but in reality, only saw the afterimage of the man he once was and refused to see the shell in front of them. You told him how you never felt less seen than after someone looked at your work, the contradiction and frustration of failing to communicate when you poured your soul into each piece.

You never talked like this with your friends. They would have called you pretentious, a death knell in your world, and scolded you for not appreciating the honor of even having an audience in the first place. The stranger, on the other hand, showed no signs of irritation as you unburdened yourself, your steps growing lighter and lighter with each confession.

Several times, you almost walked right into a trash can or utility pole. The stranger jerked you out of the way each time. After another near accident, your body bumped into his and stayed there, glued to his side where it was safest.

The many sights of the shopping distract were distracting enough, but it was the man’s eyes that increasingly tripped you up. They were all-consuming as they listened so intently to your every word. Yes, listened! His eyes rather than his ears received what you said. So black, they were almost a void. You wondered how you might capture them on paper. Charcoal was the obvious choice, but you doubted you would be able to render the nuances, the momentary flecks of light that warmed his haunted face and made the contrasting darkness all the more harrowing. Cold sweat collected in the creases of your arms if you stared into them too long.

“You know, I’m not always this moody,” you said, having just finished angstily opining against your audience. “I get anxious about showing my work, but on a normal day, I’m a lot of fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” the man hummed.

“Yes, very fun and bright,” you said cheerfully as if to prove yourself. “I’m a super fun friend to have because I love to go out and try new things, see shows, visit new places. And, I always have a ton of energy because I drink too much coffee, which now that I say it, doesn’t sound like a positive, but I swear it is. And, I am a great conversationalist, which…that one you already know.”

The ghostly facsimile of a smile brightened the stranger’s face as he said, “Well, I’m sold. You sound like a fun friend to have.”

“And you? Your turn to pitch me.”

“Pitch you?’

“Yeah, you now wanna be my friend, so you’ve gotta convince me that I want to be friends with you, too?” you teased.

“Your friend, huh? I guess that depends. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

Thoughts of the jazz musician you’d been seeing made you hesitate. You thought of his fingers, so nimble as they danced across piano keys, his smile – cool and remote and the right kind of unattainable to make your heart race –, and his deep bass rumble when he got excited about music. You liked him, maybe enough to consider making him your boyfriend, but neither of you had broached the topic yet, and left in the no man’s land of situationships, you had no loyalties to betray.

Until now, you had balanced precariously on the line between friendly and flirtatious with this stranger, not entirely sure which direction you ought to tip. Despite his dismissal of aesthetics, the man’s face was certainly aesthetically appealing. Not merely handsome, but arresting, the kind of face you could stare at for hours. And, when he spoke about your art, your tummy buzzed with a feeling not so different from infatuation.

So, you answered honestly.

“Not really.”

The stranger nodded, once again quirking his lips into something that almost passed as a smile but didn’t penetrate his eyes.

“Well, what’s there to say about me? I have err, security, money, and time? I work from home doing IT stuff, so I set my own schedule,” he said, and then grew quiet for several long beats as he struggled to come up with more. “I…am a good driver. I have a license to drive cars and motorbikes.”

“Well, that does sound fun. I don’t have a license,” you giggled, and then you knocked your shoulder into his. “Come on, you’re supposed to be selling yourself to me. Tell me that you’re the funniest guy in every room or something.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. This dark and mysterious act is hot and all, but I want to know what you’re like on like a Wednesday afternoon not just on a Friday night when you’re brooding outside bars,” you said.

“I used to be fun,” the man conceded. “I was somehow always the leader in this friend group I had as a kid. People just looked to me. And I had all these dreams and ideas and the ambition to see them out. I was always reaching for something, and my friends were right there with me.”

“What changed?”

“My family died.”

“Oh my God!”

Stunned by the barefaced admission, you dropped his hand for a moment and then hurried to relace your fingers with his. Every time you compared him in your mind to a ghost or wraith or vampire returned to you. He wasn’t some dead thing but the very opposite, startlingly and devastatingly alive despite his loss.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed to say. “For your loss I mean, and for all those jokes. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole.”

“It’s okay. It’s been over ten years now since my sister died, so I’m used to living with it. I figured you would understand after looking at your paintings. I could tell you’ve lost people, too,” he said.

“Not really, actually. I’ve only lost a grandmother I wasn’t that close to,” you admitted.

He came to a halt, right in the center of the sidewalk and studied you. A generator, in the alley behind his back, whirred loudly. When you looked at him, the darkness of the alley seemed to reach forward as if to swallow him up.

“I don’t understand. Your art has so much pain in it. Grief.”

“It does in a way. When I was a kid, I went through this – and I’m so sorry, this is so awfully morbid after what you just said about your sister – but I went through this obsession with corpses. I would beg my mom to take me to cemeteries everywhere we went. We actually visited the one up ahead at Gesso-ji Temple once. I wasn’t obsessed with death but the corpse itself. I’ve always been fascinated by abjection, the revulsion we feel at something that was once the self, transformed into the other. It’s in most of my works, this interrogation of what is that which is no longer us. How much of the self is left in the corpse? It must not be much based on the way we react to them. Anyway, I guess I have this perversity in me. I can’t forget that everything ends even when I’m happiest. Especially then. So, I find myself mourning people that are still there. It’s kind of sick when you think about it,” you said.

Maybe that morbidity explained your love of Tokyo. A city on the verge. One seismic shift, and then, collapse. The Tokyo Skytree would fall, devastation, evacuation. An ending both symbolic and true. But until that day, it shone brighter than anywhere else, glowing like a beacon for whatever astronauts peered down from space.

Engrossed by you as if you yourself were a work of precious art, the stranger continued walking without once looking away from your face.

“That’s smart,” he said finally. “I wish I’d known to mourn people while I still could. I would have appreciated them more. Kept them safe.”

Persistent buzzing from your pocket reminded you that you were hardly appreciating your own friends. They probably thought you’d fallen in the toilet at this point. You asked the man if he minded and fished out your phone. There were four missed calls and ten unread messages. You skipped reading any as you could imagine well enough what your friends wanted and dialed Kii.

“Hey, sorry about that,” you said when she answered.

“Where are you? We wanna head home, and the subway’s gonna close in an hour.”

“I needed some fresh air and ended up taking a walk. Didn’t realize how long it’s been. If you give me twenty minutes, I can come back with you guys.”

“Well, you better. Don’t forget you’re paying!” Kii cheered.

As you chatted, the man loomed over your shoulder, or loomed wasn’t quite right. He didn’t have that tall, physically intimidating presence some men had. His stillness, however, was eerie, his ability to stand patiently as you made plans without fiddling with his own phone or scratching a single itch. The only motion he indulged was scanning his surroundings, dark eyes missing nothing.

“Sorry about that, but I have to get back. Walk me?” you asked.

The man hooked his elbow through yours this time, and you walked arm in arm back to the bar. He kept you busy with questions about how you learned to paint, your next collection, your hopes for your career. After hearing about his family, his reticence no longer struck you as weird, and you appreciated his desire to simply listen.

Exiting Sun Road, the night returned in full force. The cityscape was a living thing, loud with sighing exhaust pipes and gurgling streams overheard as you crossed over storm drains. You made sure to appreciate every moment of it.

Somehow, the hurried walk back felt longer than the leisurely, initial stroll from the bar. Time froze and then sped up when you talked to this strange man, but too soon, you were back. Sounds of your friends’ good cheer trickled from the bar.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to my friends. Thanks for keeping me warm,” you said.

Once more, the stranger’s mouth moved, corners curling up, but this time, even though the air was still, you shuddered with your whole body. You had the strangest impression that he didn’t want to let you go. That he wouldn’t let you go.

This figment of your overactive imagination passed quickly as he merely nodded.

“I’ll be on the lookout for your next show, then. It was fun,” he said.

“Fun? You? In that case, why wait? Let me give you my number, and we can grab a drink sometime.”

You typed your number into his phone without scrutinizing the spontaneous decision beyond the basics that he was hot and his hand fit well in yours. He may not have been your usual type – not an artist, no messy bun, not a single name drop to Heidegger the entire conversation – but he was attractive in a midnight kind of way, and he saw something in your art that you wanted to see for yourself.

Watching his retreating back, you were struck by the thought that he might be what you had been looking for all this time.

“Hey, wait a second!” you called after him. “I just realized, you know my name, but I don’t know yours!”

“Sangawa Manaomi,” the man answered quickly. “But my friends call me Mikey.”

‘Well, friend, Mikey it is then!”

You would be waiting for his call.

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

🔬 Is Donnie only interested in Tech?

For the 70s AU!

🔬 Is Donnie only interested in Tech?

While it is his primary focus, he likes other intellectual pursuits, as well. He is well-read (though not as much as Mikey), and loves solving puzzles and crosswords and cryptograms and the like. He even makes them, himself, and when April comes into their life she has him submit some of his creations to the Daily News (so he ends up being the first of his brothers to have anything resembling an outside job).

He likes it when it is his turn in the kitchen, but he is very precise with his measurements and always sticks strictly to the recipe, even though Mike has told him more than once that it is okay to change it up a bit. As a consequence, everyone knows exactly what his dinners are going to taste like... because they never vary.

Also, he has some medical training and knowledge of anatomy, but not nearly as much as Raph does (but it does come in handy when it is Raph himself that needs the medical attention). He doesn't tend to do much of the medic stuff, though, mostly because he knows that while he can fix broken machines with ease, broken bodies are much more difficult to put back together.

[yellowhollyhock]

Tmnt Memory mash up part 2 (finally ran out of jokes for the first one)

Concept is, there is no concept we have no idea what’s real because memories are wonky, everyone is a storyteller, and Casey is gaslighting them all. (Actual concept: characters remember the same events differently because that’s how brains work, but now it’s taken to an extreme where the basis for different turtle realities comes from each set of memories.)

Rise Raph, 2012 Mikey, 2003 Donnie, 2007 Leo, 1987 Splinter, 1990s April

Leo: You guys need to focus. It��s just like I learned during my training—

Raph: Your training? Are you talking about when you became a mascot for that basketball team?

Donnie: Raphie, be nice. You know Leo takes ninjitsu very seriously.

Raph: *cackles*

Mikey: pfft yeah haha, he’s a big goofy dork who loves cartoons, trying to act all serious haha (he tried to sacrifice himself again last week why are we laughing)

Mikey: Yo dudes, I made us some pizza, shaken not stirred, canned meat supreme with jalapeños and strawberries, light on rosemary heavy on hot sauce. We’re ready for movie night!

Raph: You’re so creative with food! ❤️ You were watching that cooking show you like again, weren’t you?

April:

Leo:

Donnie:

Splinter: You are a great chef, Michelangelo. Because of my peculiar tastes I will be eating sushi.

Casey: There’s definitely algae on this pizza.

Leo: Casey shut up we’re eating

Donnie, on the last slide of a PowerPoint: And so, Leo, I think you will plainly understand, you cannot go outside.

Leo: What about Raph and Mikey?

Donnie: Did Mikey almost accidentally ally with our family’s nemesis?

Leo: No, but—

Donnie: Did Raph get poisoned at the Battle Nexus?

Leo: Well, no, but—

Donnie: Did Raph or Mikey or Splinter or April or even Casey fight an army of Foot by himself while still recovering emotionally from our first presumed defeat of said nemesis, and end up facing him again, getting thrown through a window, and falling into a coma?

Leo: But you said you were abducted by aliens! And what about all those adventures in alternate dimensions you talk about? Your safety is also important! (fuming)

Donnie: Well I’m not the one who had to go away for training. ����

Leo: But you did take that horrible phone line job while I was away for training, and do not tell me that was less traumatic!

Donnie: … phone line job???

Leo: Yeah, the—didn’t you—Casey told me you worked in tech support?

Donnie: Casey told you—Casey said—I am the cofounder of O’Neil Technologies he told you I got a phone line job?

Splinter: You must center yourselves, my students. The mind is a powerful weapon.

April: So does he always just call you guys his students?

Donnie: Nah, I think he says ‘my son’ more often than he says my name, he’s just in training mode right now.

Leo: Yeah, it’s more in private conversations that he’ll use familial terms. He really means it with just as much affection when he says students.

Mikey: lol I have been called both son and student with varying degrees of affection and annoyance. When he says my name I run for my life

Raph:

April: Um, you okay Raph?

Raph: He mostly just calls me Red…

Everyone: Dude….

April: Hey do you guys remember that guy who got mixed up with a bad crowd, almost did something really irreversible but then met you guys and turned it around and helped us instead?

Donnie: Angel!

Splinter: Ah, yes, young Carter. I hope his studies are going well.

Mikey: Mondo Gecko my man!

Leo: Do you mean your boss Winters? I mean he was the most recent.

Raph: That was Casey.

Casey: That was me.

April:

April: Anyway I was talking with his dad the other day—

Mikey: You ever had feelings for someone, Leo? Feelings you didn’t know what to do about? Feelings that kept you up at night?

Leo: Mikey I told you, I didn’t stay away that extra time because of a girlfriend.

Mikey: Maybe even feelings that make you act stupid. Feelings like Raph has for his Mona Lisa, or Donnie for April?

Raph and Donnie, eavesdropping:

Raph: What’s going on with you and April??

Donnie: Nothing I’m aware of. Maybe she borrowed a tool without asking or something. Who’s your Mona Lisa?

Raph: Raph wishes he knew.

Mikey: The heart’s a soft muscle, dude. Squish squish.

Leo: I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.

Casey: Hey Mikey! How are things going with that time traveling girl you liked? I can’t remember her name.

Mikey: Time-traveling girl..? Wait yo dude that hasn’t happened for me yet. I think you just accidentally revealed my future!

Casey: Cool, I didn’t even know I was from the future. I wonder if I could convince Leo he might start an apocalypse if he doesn’t find, like a certain artifact or something….

Donnie, again on PowerPoint: If I were to disappear, the whole world would fall to pieces. Shredder victorious. Raph and Leo estranged forever, unable to reconcile after Master Splinter’s tragic death. Mikey and April, the lone fighters against the growing tide of darkness, barely clinging onto hope. Mikey’s lost one of his arms, and with it the spark of joy in his eyes.

Raph: Who let him have coffee

Splinter: I believe he has had a nightmare. We must guard against these dark thoughts.

Donnie, staring into the distance: That dragon-daimyo merged guy nearly won the Battle Nexus. It looked like the blue bunny poisoned Leo, but in the end he stood beside him in battle. At least Raphie won his planet race.

Raph: Who let him have poison pizza puffs

Mikey: Ay Raph that’s scarily specific?

Mikey: They always forget that I’m good at science, too. I help Dee out in the lab with ideas and stuff. I mean, I don’t understand science, but I got good instincts for it. They need to remember that.

Casey: Yeah, like when you created Ice Cream Kitty.

Mikey: Yeah! What.

Casey: Or when you cured Donnie of that stuff that made him super dumb.

Mikey: No yeah but go back to what you said about Ice Cream Kitty.

Donnie: Do you guys remember that jungle dimension we went to with the really big bugs?

Mikey: Did you just call our own city a jungle dimension?

Leo: Reminds me of my training. I miss the jungle….

Mikey, humming to himself: welcome to the jungle, it’s worse here every day, you learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play

Raph: Did you guys all portal somewhere without me?

Mikey and Donnie: You wanted to see the giant bugs?

Raph:

Raph: Well, no, but—

[obsidiancreates]

Out Of The Shadows and Into The Neon (Part 8)

"Uncle Casey?"

"Yes, Donnie?" Casey holds the bo staff by the little turtle, then shakes his head and rummages through the pile of similar yet varied in size staffs.

"Do you have a battle cry?"

"Battle cry?"

"Mikey says all good ninjas have battle cries, but I said not all of them, because you don't."

Casey tears up so quickly that Donnie shoots to his feet and wraps him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you upset!"

"You didn't," Casey assured, choked up as he hugs his sorta-nephew back. "I'm just honored that you hold me to such a standard."

"Duh!" Donnie pulls back, frowning at his uncle now. "You're just as awesome as our dads! And you're not even a mutant, you're way more easy to injure but you fight anyway, that's extra awesome and brave!"

Casey blinks, and more tears spill out. How does he even begin to explain to the ten year old how much this means to him? To be admired the same way he used to admire his own Senseies? To be thought of as a warrior just as incredible as the leaders of rebellions, saviors of the world, preservers of a future worth living in?

"... Stop it." Donnie puts his oversized hand on Casey's face. "Stop crying! That doesn't even make sense, you're happy! Why do people cry when they're happy?!"

"Sorry, Donnie," Casey says with a wet laugh. He moves the hand off of his face and wipes his own eyes. "I just... that means a lot to me."

"You didn't know how awesome you are? After everything you've done?"

"I knew. It's different hearing it. Everyone appreciates hearing it from others sometimes, even when they know it themselves."

"Oh." Donnie's frown deepens. "Even when they say it a lot? Like... all the time, constantly?"

"Even when they say it a lot. Sometimes people say it out loud just to try and make others agree, because they don't believe it but don't know how to ask." Like Sensei Leona- like Leon. Boy, was that a family therapy session to remember, when that came to light.

Donnie nods, expression extremely serious. "I'll tell everyone every time I think they're awesome, then. "

"That's a great goal." Casey rummages through the staffs some more, and holds another one next to Donnie. "There! This one seems about right for your size."

"Whoo!" Donnie grabs it and instantly go into spinning it around himself.

"Whoa, buddy! That's to power up for a strong attack, too much spinning in combat will render your attacks pretty ineffective!"

"But spinning it is the best part! I know how to use my own weapon, and my style is lots of spinning." Donnie spins it again, and then points the end at Casey. He frowns. "Hmm... I feel like it needs something extra..."

"Your dad said No Techbos until you can build your own, remember?"

"Yeah. ... I'll think of something."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Auntie Cass?" Raph dangles his feet as his aunt digs through a bin of different size and weight sais. "Why do we need to use Brownie Clan weapons?"

"Your fathers didn't plan on taking you out on a real patrol this soon. AHA! Hold these ones!"

She shoves them into Raph's hands. He holds them for a second, and then-

Tries to spin them.

"Bleh! Nope!" He hands them back.

"Sai aren't traditionally a 'spinny' weapon. ... I ADMIRE YOUR ADDITION TO THE ART OF COMBAT!" Cass pats him on the head with a wide grin. "We'll find the perfect pair for you to practice that trick with!"

Raph kicks his legs more as she goes back to digging. "So what's patrol like?"

"I've only gone on patrol with your fathers a few times over the years, and Foot Clan patrol was much different. BUT! Both require focus, intensity, and PLENTY OF SNACK BREAKS!"

"What was working for The Foot like?"

"Not very different from a regular assistant job! Except for the world domination, ancient evils, and fighting turtles."

"Did they ever use robots?"

"Robots?"

"I had a dream where they used robots, but really crappy robots. Donnie could beat them with his stick."

"His bo. And no, we never used robots... why didn't we use robots? We could've hired that strange small child before he went on the lam..."

"Strange small child? ... Donnie?"

Cass lets out a loud, sharp laugh. "An excellent burn! But no, I believe his name was Blaster... Stossbid. Something like that."

Raph laughs. "Bastard Stinkboy."

"Where did you learn language like that?"

"Pop-Pop. He swears in Japanese now because Dad scolded him." Raph smirks. "But we taught ourselves Japanese, so we know them all anyway."

"You- how?"

"Donnie." Raph grins. "He knows everything. And if he doesn't know it, he knows how to find it for us. But then he makes it lame by talking about all kinds of stuff none of us get."

"It's not lame to be knowledgeable. How about these?"

"... Nope. And that's not lame, but the way he talks about it is lame."

"Does your brother call it 'lame' when you talk about art to him?"

"No."

"Does Donnie understand or have an interest in art the way you do?"

"No."

"So you've betrayed him, and treated him as less than equal!" Cass puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Raph. "He's your clan and kin, and yet you DISMISS HIS SKILLS AND INSULT HIS ATTEMPTS TO SHARE THEM!"

Raph blinks, eyes wide. "But I didn't mean to betray him! I'd do anything for my brothers! I-I'd fight the world's biggest cockroach, and I hate cockroaches!"

"I believe you!" Cass hands him another pair of sai. "But do your brothers know this?"

"They should!" Raph stands up on the bench he'd been sitting on. "Why do I gotta tell them for them to know?! I show them!"

"How?"

"I-! I... um..." Raph plonks back down onto his tiny turtle tush. "Um... well, well I show them a lot in dreams!"

"Dreams?"

"Yeah! And so I'm gonna do the same tonight." Raph spins the sais, and this time his eyes light up. He jumps down from the bench and spins them again, striking a pose. "If any of them get into any trouble, I'm jumping in to protect them!"

"Admirable bravery! But also, very foolish." Cass kneels down. "A team that protects each other is just a team that knows how to function in combat. You're also a family! So tell your brothers you love them and when they do cool things! Casey Jr tells me how incredible I am often, and it makes me feel the MOST DELIGHTFUL SWELL OF WARMTH AND LOVE EVERY SINGLE TIME!"

Raph blinks at her, and wipes a little spit off of his face. "And Leo says I yell a lot."

"We yell because a normal volume can't contain the sheer intensity of our emotions! Come, young nephew, and together we shall SHOW OFF YOUR INCREDIBLE TRICK TO YOUR BROTHERS AND COMPLIMENT ANY THEY HAVE TO SHARE BACK WITH YOU!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And then-" Mikey says, running around as April tried to find some non-spiked nunchucks for him, "-and then Leatherhead goes RAHHHHHHHH!" He holds his hands up to his mouth and opens them. "And then snaps his teeth around the zombie dog and drags him way down, and the zombie dog lives down there forever and never bothers anyone again!"

"And you came up with that all by yourself? I'd totally read that comic, little man!"

"I saw it in a dream," Mikey says proudly, "And I knew Leatherhead would be the awesomest comic hero ever!" He raches into the back of his shell and pulls out a piece of paper. He starts to run towards April, and then freezes.

"What're you- WHOA!"

April scrambles out of the way as Mikey suddenly launches into a frontflip, and then right into a backflip! But instead of falling over or even stumbling, he lands perfectly on his pancake feet and holds the drawing up to her.

"Um, Mikey? When'd you learn that?" He's not usually that sure-footed in training-

Mieky blushes and looks away. "Dad said I shouldn't try it without mats, but mats are too lumpy. ... Don't tell Dad."

"You've been practicing flips alone?! Oh, no way I'm not telling your dad, if you snap your neck-"

"I won't!" Mikey puts his hands together and widens his eyes, somehow getting them to water instantly. "Please! Pleaseeee! I wanna surprise him tonight by showing off! It's really easy for me, like- like how DNA and stuff is easy for Donnie!"

"You're asking me to lie to my best friends, little man! I-I can't just let you guys-"

"Please!"

"No way!" April goes back to rummaging. "Why are you four always tryin' stuff in secret, anyway? You can just tell your dad the mats mess you up! He'll understand."

"But he's so worried!" Mikey sits down and then flops over to lay dramatically on the floor. "All he does it make sure we're not gonna get hurt!"

"Uh, Mikey, newsflash. He's your dad. That's what a good parent does!"

"But he does it too much!" Mikey does a backflip to get back up. "He caught Donnie doing a handstand on my shoulders while we were skateboarding the other day and totally flipped! But we do that like, every time, and we don't go on the ramps or anything!"

"You WHAT?!"

"Donnie like to walk around on his hands, and I like moving around while he's talking to me! So we mixed 'em!"

"Mikey, that's way more dangerous than just backflips!"

"But we're really good at it!" Mikey frowns and tenses, his head lowering into his shell from the sheer rage in his muscles. "Why does everyone treat me like a baby?! Do you know how tough nunchucks are to use as a good weapon? REALLY TOUGH!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey." April puts her hands up. "Where's that coming from?"

Mikey crosses his arms. "Raph and I were wrestling the other day, and our dads made us stop because he's 'bigger than me'. He's only bigger by a little bit! And I'm just as strong as him, maybe stronger! My dad's the strongest and he's the smallest too, why am I any different?!" He grabs a pair of nunchucks out of the bin himself. "Look!"

"Wait-!"

But he spins his weapons perfectly, does a flip, and lands without bonking himself even once. He kicks and follows it with what would be a truly devastating hit to the rib area in a real fight, and then finishes his little demonstration with a solid punch to what would, presumably, be the jaw.

April's own jaw is dropped. "You- that was-" She shakes her head. "And we thought you weren't paying attention in training, dang kid!"

"Training is way different." Mikey pouts as he hooks the little nunchucks to his little belt. "Everyone else takes it so seriously, but it's not real!"

"... Hun..." April crouches and puts a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "They take it seriously because it is serious. And you goofing off makes them take it even more seriously, because they think you aren't paying attention."

"So?"

"Uh, so, they think you're gonna get your butt whooped out there and that they'll have to protect you! Obviously they won't, but they don't know that! ... Tell you what, when you're out with your dads tonight, show them they can mix fun with serious. Your Uncle Leon makes puns during fights all the time, goad him into it! I've seen Leo have pun-offs with his dad, it'll work like a charm."

"... Really?"

"That's an April O'Neil promise."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Pop-Pop?"

"Hmm? Yes, Little Blue?"

"Can my swords have red on the handles instead of black?"

"I don't see why not." Splinter shudders as he opens the cabinet. "All of these little girls running around with deadly weapons... this is why we live in a sewer, away from Girl Scouts."

"I thought we live in the sewer because humans don't like mutants?"

"At first. But no-one really cares anymore." Splinter pulls out a pair of katanas, and then shakes his head and tosses them aside. "Ooooh, this one has something engraved in it... eugh!" Splinter's tail stick straight out as he reads it.

Leo walks closer and reads it aloud-

"NO!" Splinter puts his hand over Leo's mouth. "How do you know what that says?!"

"Donnie found Japanese lessons for us online."

"Never repeat those words around your fathers! Purple donates to the Algebra channel just to keep it running for when he's mad at me."

"Donnie can fix that for you."

"Little Purple? Since when?"

"He built a new TV out of trash his dad didn't want anymore." Leo grins. "We stayed up all night watching your old movies the other day. You're the coolest grandpa ever."

Splinter's eyes water, and he pulls Leo into a hug. "I know this is so I won't tell on you," he sniffles, "But I don't care!"

"What? No it's not. You're just awesome. I wanna be just like you and Dad. You're both great ninjas, great teachers, and great heros!"

Splinter's hug grip falters a bit. "I... do not know if I deserve such praise."

"Why?"

"... I was not a great teacher for much of your father's life. ... I was not even a decent father."

Leo leans out of the hug. "What? But our dads love you so much!"

"Yes, because my boys are very forgiving. ... But I am ashamed to say that I... I failed them. I did not prepare them in time for many things, and I often failed them in smaller ways. Which is why I try so hard with you boys." Splints pats Leo's head. "So I do not make the same mistakes twice."

Leo shakes his head. "No. You're so wise, and-and Dad always talks about how cool you are in a fight."

"This is a heavy subject, Little Blue." Splints looks up at the armoire of swords (knowing Leon would make a pun about it somehow).

"... How do I avoid those mistakes?"

"What?"

"If you made any mistakes, I'll avoid them." Leo kneels down, sitting on his knees and putting his hands in his lap. Splints doesn't even know where he learned to sit like that, if he knows how much it reminds Splints of his early childhood before he and his grandfather moved to America.

"Oh, you won't have to worry about my kind of mistakes for a long time." Splints pats his head again and wipes his own eyes with the other hand. "You're a good person, Little Blue. But you're rushing to grow up too fast! Let yourself have a little fun! Your father has fun all of the time!"

"At home."

"Not just at home." Splints pulls out another pair of swords, one having a longer handle than the other in this pair. "Have I ever told you about the time your father outsmarted Big Mama?"

"Dad told me he tricked her and you two had the most epic father-son battle ever."

"Hah! We did! But, he also was plenty silly for it. He had them make us matching costumes, and did not even tell me his plan the whole time! I thought he was going to get us killed!"

"Why wouldn't he tell you his plan?"

"Because he is a smarta- um, forget you heard that."

"Raph says the F word."

"Yeesh. He is like a teapot. All his anger in too small a space."

"Ha!"

"Do not tell him I said that."

"I won't. ... Mikey would laugh at it too. And Donnie."

"Which is why you will not tell them either! I've seen you boys, you trade insults like normal kids trade playing cards!"

"Hey, Donnie and Raph do it way more than Mikey and I do!"

"Still. You are all smart-mouths, just like your fathers."

"You just told me to be less serious."

"By that I mean to do fun things! Make terrible puns in battle! insult your enemies and not your brothers! Embarrass your enemies in front of their partners!"

"... How will I be a good leader if I'm busy doing that?"

"Who said anything about being a leader?" Splints hands Leo the swords. "Your father did not become the leader until years after your Uncle Red was. And even then, he needed time to grow into it! You are only ten, do not worry about that kind of thing yet."

Leo tests out the swords, running through a basic attack. "But what if we need a leader?"

"That will work itself out. You're not going into battle without your fathers anytime soon! Let yourselves find your rhythm before you try to force things." Forcing things results in sons kidnapped, teapots given as ransom payment, demons unleashed-

Leo nods. "Okay, Pop-Pop. I'll loosen up." He sheathes his swords behind his back in one shockingly fluid motion. "... You really think we'll see a fight tonight?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. I'm sure it will be villain-free!"

[angstics]

What did u mean by "gerard isnt holding everything together" regards to three cheers? I feel like storytelling wasnt coherent or consistent in any of their albums tbh...

i meant that gerard held everything together in 3 cheers, where as there’s more equal distribution across instruments on bp. ill explain more ->

not the lyrics at all, the sound. now i know nothing about music so i dont know if this is accurate. but it feels like the melody on three cheers is completely led by gerard’s vocals. ik that’s a common trait of american popular music. but compared to all their albums including bullets, vocals out perform other instruments on 3 cheers the most. (And he doesnt vary his performance in this as much as he does in bp)

my comment came from an experience i had yesterday while listening to the album. i got disoriented trying to isolate the instruments in my head — drums were flat and standard, bass nonexistent. even the melodic guitar / solos despite being catchy and fun with interesting metallic tone, it felt muddled, buried. Only instrumentation i love from this album is the rhythm guitar, but its job isnt melody. I think its the closest to vocals in terms of volume/depth, which feels like but might not be a weird choice

This is howard benson’s production work, supplemented by their hit-miss attempts at being more pop. I remember frank saying benson didnt spend much time on anyone outside gerard? He’d call gerard by his name but mikey “the brother” and frank/ray “the guitarist”? And he primarily wanted pop hits? Yeah, obvious. I both love and hate this effect. Even if gerard’s the glue, he’s premium glue

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

I generally really enjoyed last night's episode, but I'm a bit perplexed at the way they seemed to be trying pretty hard to make us sympathize with Andy and made the rest of the Honor Dogs out to be simply victims. I got this feeling from the episode, but Tim's Entertainment Weekly interview made it even worse. The Honor Dogs are just "disgruntled" and "cranky"? We know from the FBI that this is a group that wants to "return Texas" to "its founding fathers." They're clearly white supremacists. The show told us that. And Mikey was the "one nut job" and the "one really bad guy"? What about Andy??

The show also told us that Andy wanted to take action where the Honor Dogs wouldn't. The Honor Dogs kicked Andy out because he said they "should actually do what they always talk about doing." Yeah, he got cold feet in the end, but he took some major steps toward domestic terrorism long before his family was threatened. To be fair, he's going to prison for 20 years and no one in the show argued with that or acted like it was unreasonable. But still.

They even persisted in comparing TK with Andy in this episode, at least to a certain extent, with Owen's comment that at least TK never tried to blow up a government building. Sure, TK has made some mistakes in his past, but he would NEVER. This framing seemed to be implying that the writers see Andy as a misguided kid who made a few bad choices and ended up in over his head. But they seem to forget the part where he's a white supremacist. I think maybe they got a little too proud of their numerous twists in this storyline and lost sight of the fact that all of these characters are bad people who simply have varying degrees of culpability in murder and attempted murder.

[skylarmoon71]

Mikey (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles)

Your meeting with the boys was much like any other civilian in New York. You were caught in a tight situation, and they dropped in to save the day. You never truly saw their faces. Not at first. You figured that was the point. Being a vigilante wasn’t exactly legal. So when you got caught between a mugger as you stared down the barrel of a gun, Leo decided that playing it safe wouldn’t cut it. 

Mikey was the one who sped in front of you, blocking the potential of any bullet. His back was facing the criminal, and he pulled you into a protective hug as Leo knocked out the man. He fell to the ground in seconds, and when Mikey knew you were no longer in danger, he quickly took a step back. His eyes lowered almost sadly. Leo’s eyes lifted. From the look on his face you knew they had every intention of going unnoticed. Being unseen. Although your heart was still strumming in your chest, you realized at that moment that it’s clear what side they were on. 

“Thank..you…” 

It’s a shaky whisper. Between almost getting shot and staring at these two giant, almost alien beings, you weren’t sure you could say or do much more. Your body was still very much frozen in place. The second you heard the sirens, you could see them about to take off. You stared as the orange band turtle gave you a brief look. Neither of you said a word after that. You just hoped he heard your thanks. He flashed a smile, right before he went up and out of sight.

A chance encounter. 

That was how you met. 

Fast forward to one year, and you couldn’t imagine what life was like before you met. They all varied in personality and strength. Fighting crime was their passion, one that you respected. Admired. Had it not been for them, you probably would not be alive. That’s why when you first discovered your own ability, you weren’t certain why you decided to keep it from them. You were still understanding it, so why drag them into a situation you did not fully understand. It made sense. You were protecting them. 

That’s why when you walked into the lair that night with you backpack, just fresh out from your part time job, you wanted nothing more than to see Mikey’s excited grin as you showed him some new videos of people doing stupid stuff. 

What you were greeted with was not the smile of the male, but the solemn looks among the brothers. Raph had a bloodied bandage on his right bicep. Leo had an awfully painful looking scratch on his chest, and Donnie's glasses were almost broken. He was seated on the floor against the wall, head down, bo staff a mess of bent metal. 

“Mikey…?” 

Your voice pulled them out of their thoughts, and the second you saw those eyes, somehow you knew. Splinter walked in with what looked like more bandages. His eyes met your own, and you could feel your heart break at the words he spoke. 

“Michelangelo..did not make it.” 

Your bag slipped from your hand. The tear that follows has a simultaneous effect on all of them. Raph grits his teeth, jumping to his feet as he storms off. 

You can’t move. 

There’s nothing you can really do but pull memories of him.

 ~~

“Are you scared?” 

It would be a blatant lie to say you weren’t. You figured out how the vigilantes were working, and left a note that you hoped they would find. A part of you just needed proof that it was real. That they were. That’s why when the one in orange showed up on the roof of your complex, you were stunned. Scared, excited. Maybe a little crazy.

“I’m a little scared. “ You wanted to be honest. Because this still felt surreal. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

He kept his distance. Almost like a scared animal. Terrified to move too quickly. He was giving you assurances. There’s a part of your brain that agrees. If he wanted to cause harm, he would have done so that day. But he’d literally used his body to shield you.

“You saved me.” 

He blinks, rubbing the back of his head. 

“It’s what we do!” Those words were followed by a big smile. One that brought warmth. He’d gone from scared to a little kid in seconds. 

“What’s your name?” You needed to know. 

'Michelangelo, but my friends call me mikey.” He winks, and you can’t stop the smile that inches on your face. 

“I’m (Y/N).” 

You hold out your hand for him, and for a moment those baby blue eyes just stare. He says nothing, and somehow you feel as though you’ve offended him. 

“I-I’m sorry. It’s okay if you’re not comfortable shaking. “ You hide both hands behind your back. 

Mikey shakes his head with a dry laugh. There’s nothing but sadness detected in his tone now. 

“It’s not that dude. I just expected you to be all the way across the country by now.” He continues to laugh, but it feels a bit forced. Your face falls. It’s clear why he would say this. There’s no way anyone would react rationally upon seeing what you have. The reactions he must have experienced make your heart ache. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but you move closer. Mikey doesn’t register until you're right in front of him. You take one last step, and when those small arms wrap around his body, he’s tense. Your eyes are tightly shut, and you just hold on. 

“Maybe this time, I have to help you Mikey.” 

There’s a small change on his face at the way you address him. Slowly, you feel the way his hands reciprocate the gesture. 

It feels so natural. This is faith.

~~

“No way, are you telling me you’ve never seen it?”

You shook your head. 

“Dude it’s so awesome we have to watch it!!” 

Leo just barely hears the conversation as he walks around the corner. 

“What is he dragging you into this time?” 

“Transformers!” Mikey cheers. 

Apparently Mikey has seen all the movies, but you haven’t. Now he’s about to make it his mission to get you caught up on everything. 

“We’re about to have a sick marathon of explosive awesomeness!!” 

Mikey seems more than excited, so you just watch as he runs off to get the snacks appropriate for the night of fun. Leo glances down as your eyes follow his brother. There’s a bit of awe in your eyes, but also affection. For a while now he’s wondered. Because when Mikey first introduced you, they were all hesitant to trust. Mikey was naive by nature. He didn’t want someone to hurt his brother. In a lot of ways he was very much a child. Oblivious, gullible. 

Yet when they actually met you, they started interacting with you. Leo found that you were a bit protective of his brother as well. You’d always wait for them after patrols, just to ensure they walked through those halls. You checked on them whenever you were free. But most of all, you were always there to reassure Mikey. His smiles seem to give you light. 

“If you keep staring at him like that he’s going to figure it out.” You blinked at Leo’s words, cheeks flushing. 

“He may be a numskull, but I'm sure he isn’t completely blind.” You turned back in your seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Leo just smiles.

“Sure.” 

~~~

“It’s just a scratch. See.” 

The sight of blood brought unease, despite the size of the wound. The frown stays planted on your face as you begin cleaning it. Sitting on the couch, you can’t help but feel a bit annoyed. 

“Stop being reckless. It could have been worse. You need to be careful Mikey.” You scold. 

“Fine, I'll be careful.” You were still frowning. Mikey used his free hand to poke your side, and you swatted it away.

“I’m still mad.” You grumble.

“Come on, you can’t be mad at me.” He gave you the cutest look he could muster, and you couldn’t stop the smile that began to break through. You shook your head with a laugh as you tried your best to stay on task. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“But you love me.” He hums happily. His words caused your action to slow. Mikey noticed, because it was followed by your silence. 

“Hey I was just teasing.” You look up, and the strength of your eyes has him caught off guard. 

“I..do love you Mikey.” 

It’s almost a whisper. The moment the words leave your lips, you look down, getting back to work. You hope that it distracts you. Mikey just watches. He notices the slightly frantic movements. You’re bashful. 

It’s adorable. 

“I love you too.” 

That’s not what you expect, and more than anything you want to see his expression, but it feels like too much. It’s possible that he doesn’t mean it, not the way you do. 

“(Y/N).” You swallow, peeking up at him. There’s so much sincerity right there in front of you. 

“I love you..” 

It’s a murmur, and your eyelids begin to lower when he leans closer. 

“Hey dumbnut, where is my pizza!!” Raph’s voice breaks the flowery moment, and you practically jump out of the chair. 

“I-I’ll get more bandages!!” 

A cowardly escape. ~Present~

“Class dismissed. Enjoy your Christmas break!” 

The students disperse as soon as the bell goes off, and you can practically hear the cheers. Within seconds, the room is empty. When Mr. Miller spots you, his face lights up. 

“Ms. (L/N), have you brought any more time traveling theories?” 

He was possibly the only one you could talk to about crazy scientific possibilities. You knew he did it more for your sake. He was practical. Exchanging ideas of what was possible had time travel been a reality was sort of his hobby.

“I finally watched those sci-fi trilogies. It seems legit. If you go back and mess with the past, ultimately it affects the future. “

“Hmm, while that might be true, it’s not in the way you think.” He tapped the side of his temple with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” He sat back on the desk, folding his arms. 

“Well, everyone seems to believe that by going back and changing one occurrence, it’ll change the entire world. Start a big catastrophic collapse, but that’s not true. If you think about it, we live in a world with multiple realities. Scientists have speculated over the possibility of the multiverse. But no one knows if it’s actually real. “ 

“You think it’s possible?” 

“I believe anything is possible. So if you were able to go back, let’s say you lost your pup and you decided to rescue it from the accident that made you lose him. Then ultimately you do save its life. By doing that, your timeline resets. You’ve altered one particular variable, so now the world just needs to build around that. From my perspective, I don’t think it’s the reality that’s affected, but you are. You might save the dog, but now that dog has to lead another path in order to balance out said changed timeline. Do you get what I’m saying?” 

You’re starting too. 

“So only my reality changes, because I’m the one altering the scheme. “ 

“Bingo. You’ll remember everything as it was, but the people around you might not. Because you’ll no longer be a part of that time. I think our world has a way of correcting the imbalances.” He grins, and you grip your bag. When you stand abruptly, he’s a little surprised. Your expression has significantly changed. You head right for the door, but just before you leave, you pause, glancing back, you send a smile. 

“Thank you, for everything.” He’s a bit lost, or maybe worried. It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.

“Ms (L/N) is there something that you-” You’re already running off before he can fully question you. 

“I can change this, I can change everything. “

It’s been three months. 

Nothing has been the same. Not with the boys, or April or you. 

After that day, Raph left, he went out on his own. You’d lost count of how many criminals had been put in the hospital by a rogue as the news put it. Raph was unhinged. Leo and Donnie had pretty much given up on patrol altogether. 

April stopped by whenever she could, but that had been getting scarce with each day that passed by. Because somehow seeing them broken made her ache. She wouldn’t have cared if they never fought crime again. If that meant she could see even one smile, that would be enough. Life was not so rewarding. 

When you got into the lair, you could hear the sound of something crashing to the ground. From the looks of Raph had thrown the couch across the room. There was a gaping hole in the television set, and Mikey’s nunchucks were on the ground in the aftermath of this fight. 

“HE’S GONE LEO AND HE’S NEVER COMING BACK!!” 

Hearing those words was a shock to your system. Days like this still didn’t feel real. You kept hoping you would blink and he'd be standing there with that brilliant smile on his face. You kneeled down, picking up the rusted weapon. You gripped it in your hands, and all eyes moved to you. You were crying again. You couldn’t help it. When you stood, they were very confused by the pained smile you wore. 

“I’m going to fix this. I’ll fix everything I promise.” Leo feels pathetic. Because you were just as broken as they were, and you were still trying to provide comfort. 

It’s only when your body begins to give off a faint glow that sadness changes to confusion, then surprise. There’s an orb of light that begins forming around your body. 

“(Y/N)...” 

Leo’s speechless. 

“When he comes back, tell him I miss him okay..” 

Tears begin to cascade down your eyes, and Leo flinches. 

“(Y/N) NO!!” 

His scream echoes throughout the area, and the light overtakes the entire space. 

All your bodies gone without so much as a sound.

[postapocalyptic-cryptic]

hey mikey! for the otp question meme, could you do starjack?

MY BELOVEDS!!! This got kind of out of hand and is over 2k words, so I'm putting it under a cut.

#29 has spoilers for the Unicron comics!!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

In public? Wheeljack. Starscream is NOT a fan of PDA. It’s not professional, it’s a show of weakness, he’s too good for that, etc etc etc etc. In private, it’s a tie between the two of them! Depends on what moods they’re in. Since Wheeljack’s very autistic and Starscream’s very traumatized, they both have times when they don’t want to be touched, so physical affection varies. With other kinds of affection, it’s more constant and still balanced pretty evenly between them. 

2. Big spoon/Little spoon?

Oooo this is a good one bc it’s almost always Wheeljack. Not only is he the shorter one, but Starscream’s wings make trying to be the little spoon into a bit of an ordeal. Wheeljack’s get in the way, but they’re much smaller and easier to deal with. Sometimes, Starscream will be the little spoon for a while, but more often, either he’s the big spoon or they cuddle front-to-front. 

3. Most common argument?

Oh man. Starscream is a special creature, so they have special arguments. Their most common one is variations on “Starscream, you need to stop acting in your own self-interest to the detriment of literally everyone else around you.” Runner up is “Starscream, you need to stop treating everyone like they’re out to get you.” 

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

Reading together! They both have very demanding jobs, so it’s nice to just sit together and read or watch a show for a while after work. It usually slowly turns into cuddly reading, and then just cuddles. 

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

Hmmmm Wheeljack, probably. Starscream is eminently carriable. He has that energy about him. 

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Wheeljack’s favorite feature of Starscream’s is face, and specifically the shape of his cheeks and his eyes. Starscream switches frames a lot, but Wheeljack recognized him immediately when he woke up in RID. Starscream’s face is constant, and constantly pretty. Starscream’s favorite features of Wheeljack’s are his audial fins! He thinks they’re very cute (he’s right). He especially loves how they flash when Wheeljack gets really into what he’s talking about. 

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

For Wheeljack, the first thing that changes is the kind of time he spends with Starscream. He starts hanging out with him in non-professional and non-coincidental contexts, and then spending more one-on-one time with him. They slowly start spending a lot of time in each other’s quarters. For Starscream, what changes is the amount of time spent with Wheeljack. When he realizes his own feelings, he starts spending WAY less time with Wheeljack. Basically takes a huge step back with no warning. This is not conducive to kindling a relationship, Starscream. You can’t just do things because you’re scared, Starscream. 

8. Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

Super super basic. Jackie and Star, just derivatives of their names. They’ll both also call each other “sweetheart” because they’re big saps. 

9. Who worries the most?

In general, Starscream. He is a ball of anxiety with wings. About the other, Wheeljack. I lied. The ball of anxiety also has significant problems to go with the wings, and Wheeljack has good reason to worry about him. 

10. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Wheeljack. Starscream may be in love, but he is always a bit of a self-centered bastard. 

11. [Removed to keep it sfw]

12. Who initiates kisses?

They both kind of initiated their first kiss simultaneously. It was a mutual thing and, keeping in that vein, they’re pretty mutual about all of their kisses. Wheeljack initiates more, but not by much. It mostly comes down to Starscream and his dislike of PDA. 

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

The first time? Wheeljack. Now, most of the time, still Wheeljack. Starscream is stubborn about everything, including reaching out for any kind of support or comfort. Wheeljack’s not a fan of holding hands for too long, though, because even if robots don’t sweat, the texture and feel of palms right up against each other is weird for him. 

14. Who kisses the hardest?

Starscream DEFINITELY. He has drawn blood more than once (it’s okay; Wheeljack loves him and his enthusiasm and his fangs). He loves kissing, which is part of the reason he doesn’t initiate much in public. He doesn’t just want a peck on the lips. He wants a makeout session. He also uses Wheeljack’s audial fins as handles quite often. 

15. Who wakes up first?

On a work day, Starscream. Wheeljack, being a fairly well-known, well-off, well-connected engineer, gets to largely decide his own schedule, and he’s a night owl, so most days he gets to his lab around 10am and stays late. Starscream’s schedule is much less flexible and he usually has prep work for meetings, so he gets up around 6:30 most days. Sometimes, Wheeljack gets up with him, because Wheeljack takes forever to wake up and he likes to be lazy in the mornings and get a few extra Starscream cuddles before Starscream has to be out the door. 

16. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Jackieeeee. He wants to sleep in he wants to cuddle he wants to be a nuisance and make it much harder for Starscream to start his day. It’s very hard to get up the willpower to start a day full of meetings and paperwork when you have a very warm very lovey Wheeljack in your bed tempting you with kisses and cuddles. Starscream shows incredible strength every day he makes it to work on time.  

17. Who says I love you first?

Wheeljack, and Starscream FLIPS. They were fuckbuddies for a while before starting their relationship, and because of Circumstances and Wheeljack being a sad dramatic gay bitch, he drops the L-word on Starscream as a way of introducing the idea of a more serious relationship. Starscream is VERY skittish when it comes to serious relationships, so he doesn’t react well. He also doesn’t say “I love you” back for almost a month. Not because of any lack of feeling, just because that’s terrifying and there’s nothing Starscream hates more than vulnerability. 

18. Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

Neither, but Starscream usually pings Wheeljack around lunchtime just to check in.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

OUGH so they keep everything very low-key, verging on secret, for a while. Starscream is, well, Starscream, and most of the people Wheeljack knows aren’t going to be happy with their relationship. Wheeljack waits about three months before telling most of his friends, and Starscream doesn’t really have any friends. BUT. But. Wheeljack was pining and angsting to Ratchet months before they got together, and Ratchet had advice for Wheeljack as far as the Bot/Con cultural divide goes. Ratchet knew right away just because Wheeljack couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face the first time they talked after they got together. 

Starscream’s tough bc this sounds horrible but he doesn’t really have anyone to tell? I guess technically Bumblebee knew first because of the whole ghost situation but that doesn’t really count bc he was dead at the time. The first person Starscream tells in a one-on-one conversation is Skyfire, but that’s MONTHS after they get together. Mostly, their relationship just kind of became obvious to the people around them. So it’s complicated. 

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Oh man. It’s Bad. It’s Pretty Bad. Windblade and Ratchet are really the only ones who think Wheeljack hasn’t lost his mind. For a long time, basically everyone thinks Wheeljack is either making a horrible mistake or being manipulated. Starscream is not a good person, and his shittiness is very public knowledge. The DETAILS of his shittiness are very available to the military social group Wheeljack’s a part of. It takes a long time for the tension to fade and for people to realize that Wheeljack and Starscream are actually pretty good for each other. 

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

Starscream!!! Wheeljack Cannot Dance he is very clumsy he’s terrible at it but that does not stop Starscream from spinning him around the living room and dipping him and laughing when Wheeljack steps on his toes. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s very romantic and silly and sweet. 

22. Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Cybertronians don’t really do cooking? But if they did, Starscream would be the better cook. 

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Wheeljack. He is a dork at his core. He comes up with the WORST lines and tries them at the most random times. Starscream has snorted energon out his nose several times before thanks to well-timed pickup lines. HOWEVER. Every once in a great while Starscream will come out with the worst pickup line you’ve ever heard. He is getting them from Thundercracker.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Starscreammmmmm. Fucking bastard. 

25. Who needs more assurance?

Starscream definitely. I’ve talked a bit before about how I think he has the robot equivalent of Borderline Personality Disorder, and needing assurance is definitely a part of that. Despite the show of narcissism, his actual self esteem is in the gutter and his relationship track record is abysmal at best, so he needs assurance pretty regularly that he’s still wanted and that their relationship is okay. It’s hard for him to read the cues that would otherwise tell him how the relationship is going, because Megatron pretty thoroughly scrambled the “healthy relationships” part of his brain. 

26. What would be their theme song?

Here’s their playlist, and on that playlist, The Song is definitely Pierre by Ryn Weaver. It’s about the “I can’t let him in / you call me up and ask me how I’ve been / I’ll call your bluff and / keep on tellin’ you lies” it’s about the “you play me rough but I won’t let you in” and MOST IMPORTANTLY it’s about the “I’ll come around.” 

27. Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Wheeljack? But tbh neither of them are cut out to be parents. I love them both but that would be terrible. 

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

First and foremost: be annoying to the people around them. God you have never met two people who can complain more about how much they miss their partner. Wheeljack won’t even properly complain, he’ll just mope and sigh and talk about Starscream 24/7, which is arguably worse. Starscream, predictably, will swing between pretending that nothing is wrong and that he has no feelings and acting like he’s dying. 

Fortunately, with Cybertronian tech, it’s easy to keep in touch even over long distances, so they call and text a lot. 

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

[UNICRON SPOILERS!!!!] 

The fact that Wheeljack died makes it easier for Starscream to sacrifice himself. 

He finds out a few hours after it happened. He’s well-informed, one of the first to know about everything happening with Unicron, both out of his own demand and out of necessity, but even the people involved in the mission took a little while to figure out Wheeljack didn’t make it. Starscream isn’t told gently. He’s told as part of a brief. He does his best to keep a straight face. 

When the time comes to activate the Talisman, he thinks of who he has left. He thinks of his trine, broken. He thinks of Skyfire, who hates him. He thinks of Windblade, who he’s taught decently and left with a good support system. He thinks of Wheeljack, who he loves, who loves him back, who sacrificed himself to save a planet of organics. He doesn’t know if he believes in an afterlife, but he knows if there is one, he and Wheeljack won’t be going to the same place. He thinks about a life without Wheeljack, without anyone. 

He activates the Talisman. 

30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

Oh thank god I broke my own heart with that last one. Wheeljack loves infodumping to Starscream! Starscream is the worst listener ever to 99% of people in the universe. Wheeljack is the single exception. Starscream will listen to Wheeljack talk about whatever he’s currently interested in for HOURS. He loves how happy and relaxed Wheeljack gets. He loves his happy stims and the way his audial fins flash. He loves learning from Wheeljack, even if sometimes he gets too lost in the gay thoughts to follow some of the concepts. 

This is a sort of related headcanon, so I’ll throw it in as a bonus. Wheeljack snaps his fingers a lot as a happy stim, especially when he’s talking about/working with a special interest, and by the time they’ve been together six months, Starscream has picked up the snapping thing, too. It’s very cute they are SO in love. 

[nolanhollogay]

❛ that is… literally illegal. you’re describing something illegal. ❜

everyone say hiii edgar!! newest boy <3

+

"Is that a freaking gun?" Edgar whispered, trying to be conspicuous, even as JJ waved it around like it was a toy. "What is– Where did you even get that?"

John B turned to Pope, with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't catch him up to speed?"

Pope scoffed. "No, I didn't catch him up to speed! I wasn't trying to involve him at all!"

"Well, that worked out super well. Good job Pope!" Kiara said, patting him sarcastically on the arm.

"Stop being fucking mean!" Nova exclaimed, sending her a glare.

"Okay, because no one is explaining shit to you," JJ stood in front of Edgar, gun still in hand. Edgar's stomach did a summersault at the sight of it, the way the metal glinted in the sunlight. "You know Scooter Grubs?"

Edgar nodded. His mom sent Lana, Scooter's wife, homecooked meals every other week. It was why their Tupperware was always missing.

"Yeah, well, he kicked it–"

Mikey laughed. "You didn't have to say it like that. Have some tact, man."

JJ continued on, undeterred. "And we found the boat he mighta, maybe, probably died in. And in that boat we found a motel key. And we mighta used the key to get into his room, where we found a shit ton a cash, and this bad boy!"

Edgar took a deep breath as he took a second to process everything that had just been said. Everyone looked at him, waiting for his reaction. "That is... literally illegal. You are describing something illegal."

Having five people all look varying degrees of unimpressed with him at the same time was a horrible thing to experience.

"I thought you'd be cool with this because you're always at parties and shit!" JJ exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. Edgar flinched when he raised the gun. He didn't even seem to remember it was in his hand. "Goes to show, you can't trust a church boy!"

"Don't call me that," Edgar said. "I hate it when you guys call me that. And," he crossed his arms over his chest, "You just have to give me a second to regroup. You threw an insane amount of insane information at me all at once. I think I'm allowed to be a little shell shocked."

"I'd be freaked out too if I had JJ in my face with a gun," Mikey offered in his defense. JJ made a face at him, before finally shoving the gun back into his bookbag.

Running his hands over his face, Edgar turned to John B, their official unofficial leader. "So what exactly is your next move?"

John B grinned. "We're throwing a rager."

[soldrawss]

Your big brother Mikey AU is so cool and well thought out! I was wondering, do the Foot still exist in this AU and if so, are the Hamato brothers in any danger? Does Mikey work as a pizza delivery boy?

The Foot exist yes! But they’re more of like, a street gang than anything else. (Kinda like how the Purple Dragons were in previous iterations) For the most part, the Hamatos don’t really have anything to do with them. Raph and Donnie and Leo know they’re not allowed out after 6 without an adult with them and Mikey’s taught Leo and Donnie enough self-defense (from what he can remember of their father’s training) to help them if they’re ever in need. “If you’re ever cornered, give them whatever they want and don’t make a move unless you absolutely have to. I mean it, guys. I’m not showing you this so you guys can play heroes, this is only, and I mean only, to be used as a last resort. But I want you to comply with any demands they give and get out of there. I don’t care if they take your phones and wallets and backpacks. We can always replace bus passes and school work. I can’t replace you guys.”

The only time the Foot were ever an issue was when Mikey gets mugged when he’s 17 on his way home from one of the shitty jobs he worked the nightshift at on one of the piers. The subway station was empty, probably because it was the dead of night and Mikey got off earlier than he usually does, so the station was bare of the usual tiny rush of new yorkers coming in for the graveyard shifts. Thankfully Mikey’s reflexes were faster than his brain was, and he was able to avoid too much of a conflict before the three-membered group got the upper hand. His phone go broken in the struggle, but they thankfully didn’t get to his wallet or key ring. They did land a couple of solid hits to his jawline and gut though, knocking the air clean out of Mikey, and ripped his best work shirt in the process of throwing him to the ground (he only had two), so really the struggle ended with a heated tie. The small gang turning hightail when a security officer making the rounds chased them off and helped Mikey to his feet from one of the concrete pillars he was slumped against.

Mikey ended up arriving home late anyway despite the head start because he had to fill out an accident report with the security officer, and that had just about drained the last ounce of energy Mikey had left to his name as he practically crawled through the front door of their little apartment. He kicked it closed with his feet, forgetting that it was 1am and that he shouldn’t be making as much noise as he was making because it was a school night, and Leo had been having a wack sleep schedule lately, and if he woke up now, he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep till the next night and that would have totally been on Mikey. But Mikey was too tired to think that far ahead as far as the consquences of his actions go, and promptly dumped all his stuff on the foyer floor and passed out on the living room couch, not even bothering to change his clothes or take off his shoes, let alone fold the couch out into a bed.

He woke up some four hours later, to Donnie patting his arm gently but firmly, and with sharp brown eyes and a creased brow just barely peeking under a mess of brown-haired cowlicks and bed head.

“-ikey. Mikey, wake up. Your face is purple.” And the sheer tension and fear in his voice were enough to pull Mikey out of the desperate hold sleep had him in as he got up slowly, rubbing his face and ow, yeah, his whole left side was swollen and sore and felt gross.

“Ahhh, yeah. Some guys tried to jump me at Water and Fletcher station. I’m totes magoats fine kiddo. They didn’t get my wallet or anything. Phone broke though, so I’ll have to swing by a CVS and pick up a burner until I can get a new one.” Mikey explains all in one murmured half yawn. He didn’t like the way Donnie’s face did a complicated little series of frowns and pouts, which could have meant one of a million things, but Mikey just woke up, so he didn’t really have all the brainpower yet to try and decode it other than, oh no I made him mad.

“Go put on some pjs and wash your face,” Donnie replies, and he waffles from where he’s crouched beside the couch like he wants to say something more, but settles on sighing and standing straight. He makes his way to the kitchen quietly, carefully picking up the mess Mikey left in front of the door a few hours ago and unceremoniously dumps them on the kitchen island on his way to rummage through the freezer. Mikey watches as he pulls out a bag of frozen peas before getting one of the dishtowels hanging from the oven handle and wetting it down in the sink. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen, but you need to sleep in your bed or you’re gonna be sore all over. I swear, that couch was the worst decision we ever made, I can’t believe you made us carry it up 6 flights of stairs.”

“Shhhh, don’t listen to him baby, how was I supposed to know the elevator would decide to break down that day?” Mikey whispers not at all quietly to the couch just to get a begrudging half-smile out of Donnie. It works for a fraction of a second, but Donnie’s pouting frown and worried eyes return when he looks at Mikey’s nasty little kick in the face bruise, and Mikey can’t help but feel the weighted rock of guilt settle further in his gut. He just couldn’t do anything right lately, huh? “Anyway, thanks Dee, but I’ll just take a shower and get changed for my shift at Tony’s. Work starts in a few hours anyway and I can run to CVS really quick before then.”

But when he gets up and makes his way over towards the bathroom, Donnie blocks his path and presses a damp dishtowel wrapped around the frozen veggies and some pills into his hands. “No need, you’re staying home. I already called into your work for you. One of the GM’s, Woody, I think his name is? Anyway Woody seemed really cool. Gave you today and tomorrow off. Even said he’d swing you some paid vacation time if you bring some of your famous lemon squares into work on Monday, so really you have no excuse to object or complain.”

And Mikey wants to complain, and he almost does, but Donnie shoots down his squawk of disapproval with a pointed glare that Mikey hates being at the other end of. “And don’t you dare say you’re fine, Mikey. Your face looks like a bruised plum. Please, just, take the day off, sleep, do laundry, whatever. Raph can even stay home with you, if you really need some more incentive. But just, stay here for today. Ok?”

And he was begging in that way that Donnie and Leo almost never pull on Mikey, because they knew Mikey would crumble like an absolute sucker at those round brown eyes, warm like melted chocolate, and it was a power move that they only used for absolute good. And Mikey guessed that if he was swinging those bright round headlights his way, then this must have been a pretty good reason, and honestly, his bed did seem like something he’d love to just crash into for the rest of the day. So he nods, and lets Donnie lead him to towards the bedroom he shares with Raph, who’s still sleeping soundly on his side of the room.

Mikey doesn’t remember much after that. He changes into some pjs and disgards his shoes at the bottom of his bed while Donnie goes to get him a glass of water for the medicine. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow and Donnie rests the makeshift ice pack against his swollen cheek.

Mikey vaguely remembers Raph climbing into this bed a little later, scooching over with a practiced and natural ease so the little five-year-old could squirm his way perfectly against Mikey’s chest, resting his head just under Mikey’s chin, and Donnie poking him in the side, just long enough to tell him that Leo and him will be back home after Leo’s baseball practice and that they’ll pick up a burner phone for him.

Mikey untangles an arm from under the comforter and holds it out towards Donnie, an unsaid invitation that doesn’t take more than a second to understand because Donnie is leaning forward into it anyway, and it’s an awkward hug, but it’s warm, and as the 10-year-old wraps familiar arms around Mikey’s half-hug, squeezing back just as tightly, he presses a kiss into his kid’s bubble gum smelling hair, freshly shampooed, and smiles when he says. “Thanks Dee. Be safe. Love you.”

And his face is still a sorry mess of pain and swollen hurt, but Raph is a solid warmth against his chest, and there are some leftover ingredients for some lemon bars in the cupboard, and he’d been waiting to try out that new veggie lasagna recipe he never had the time for before anyway, and Donnie winks at him wordlessly behind his thick-framed glasses, and somehow Mikey has the distant and fading thought before he slips into sleep again, that he should have known that Donnie always gets his way in the end. And Mikey isn’t upset by that thought at all.

[dr4kenlvr]

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 !!

feat. mikey sano, draken, baji keisuke, chifuyu matsuno, mitsuya takashi (reader is mentioned here and there too!) - crack/humour/fluff (1.2k+)

nana's note: can toman boys drive cars?? no keep reading to find out about the boys and their driving habits!! spoiler alert: in no way should you drive like them please don't listen to this post LMAO

MIKEY

to mikey, the written test wasn't too bad—he went in, sat in his little cubicle, and got through the questionnaire without too much issue

dude couldn't lie though, he was sweating bullets at the demerit point questions FR

but of course, mikey boasts to everyone (especially baji but we'll get to that later) about his success, and is very excited to hit the road

didn't realize just how small being behind a car wheel feels until he sits and needs to bump the seat up a few notches LMAO

baji teases him: "you need heels on to reach the pedals, too? HAHHAHA"

is constantly driving with an :0 expression

"oh my god, the car is moving ken, im making the car move—ken, look!"

"yes mikey, your foot is on the gas pedal."

cheers when he does a left turn successfully, because fuck are those a pain in the ass sometimes

sometimes forgets to signal, and has been flipped off a few times for almost crashing in front of the car behind him

"oops!"

mikey absolutely has a snack stash in his trunk too—it's filled, and always being refilled, with sweets, savoury treats, and drinks

"y/n, could you grab me a bag of chips please? any flavour!" he yells from the front

???? what ????—you crane your head back to a fucking kitchen of snacks like it's normal for anyone to have that much

occasionally gets extremely tired at the wheel, and shuts his eyes for two seconds at a red light

it's either a honk waking him up or ken profusively cursing at him

"oops!" x2

DRAKEN

now i don't wanna be bias (user dr4kenlvr, am i right), but ken is probably the second best driver on this list

written test wise, he passed on the first try

wasn't too difficult, and the lady at the desk even congratulated him with a warm smile, to which he happily returned

he got use to the mechanisms of the car pretty quickly

all of these gears and switches were like second nature to him, considering how much he works with motorbikes on the regular

likes to play music as he drives, it varies depending on the time of day it is

nice r&b on a night drive is always his favourite though

once draken gets really comfortable with the wheel, he'll have an arm hanging out the window

heavenly sigh—he looks really good <3

never drove alone with just his G1, despite his delinquent reputation

good job ken!!

one thing though: he has an oddly high level of road rage LMFAOOO

draken thinks it's probably because he's in a car—surrounded by 4 walls—rather than being out in the open like on a bike

people can't hear him curse the living hell out of them with the windows up so...

"what the FUCK, ASSHOLE?—CAN'T SEE I'M TRYNA FUCKIN' PASS?"

"SIGNAL NEXT TIME, YOU BITCH."

"ARGHHH—QUIT YOUR HONKING YOU DICK! I HEAR 'YA"

"WHY IS THIS GUY UP MY FUCKING ASS."

yeah, he gets loud LMAOO and vulgar

with his viens popping out and shit, he probably looks crazy if you pull up next to him in the adjacent lane

just don't look over, you'll be okay

HELP

same ken

BAJI

this mf spent months studying for the written test

he was extremely keen on doing well too, because he wanted the luxury of being able to finally drive a car

baji also wanted to be able to drive his mother to and from work, so that she "wouldn't have to take public transit all the time"

love you keisuke

created study nights with chifuyu, where the boys would quiz each other on repetitive shit like signs

"okay, what's this one?"

"uhh.. there's like a merry-go-round ahead?"

"wha—? d'you mean a ROUNDABOUT???"

he had the right spirit, so chifuyu gave him a point either way AHSDHDSHF

time rolled around and baji declared him finally ready to take on the test and..

...he passed!! yay keisuke !!!

dude wanted to explode from the sheer relief, he literally picked you up and spun you around 18 times out of happiness

BUT THIS MF ON THE ROAD IS SO FUCKING WILD—he's good with the wheel, but like there's always something going on in his car

you could get whiplash by how fast he goes sometimes

he doesn't even mean to

50 maximum but he's going 80

"YOU'RE GONNA GET PULLED OVER OR KILL SOMEONE, KEI' SLOW DOWN."

"oH—FUCK, SORRY! sorry!"

also is a huge multitasker - and isn't too shabby at it

he could be calling someone via bluetooth speaker, while eating, while scratching his back, while signalling into the right lane ALL AT ONCE

miraculous how he doesn't have even a scratch or dent yet to be honest

idk man, just make sure you have your seatbelt on at all times, kay'?

CHIFUYU

i think he gets a little too excited every time he gets behind the wheel

like hes giggling with every lane change or right turn

literally fucking SCREAMS when he sees a cat walk on the road

"NOOOOOOOOOOO—"

"chifuyu, it's fine! it walked back. K-KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!"

has a cushion specifically for peke j in the back seat where no one can sit or move it to sit

"ahh no. that's peke j's spot, you can sit in the trunk or something."

baji: "are you fucking kidding me."

LMAO

speaking of peke j, he has a component in his trunk filled with toys and cat food for him

it's honestly really sweet, how much he cares and cherishes his little cat

you can't find the heart to be too angry with him when you find cat fur stuck to the seats

i think chifuyu has a lot of fucking fast food garbage in his car too

his mom (and you) is always up his ass about it:

"CLEAN YOUR DAMN GARBAGE MATSUNO. THIS IS A CAR, NOT A LANDFILL."

like, you would sit in the passenger seat and at your feet there's just wrappers and straws and shit

you look at him with a look that just speaks volumes of "really?"

and he's all (｡╹ω╹｡)

it's an honest mistake <3

MITSUYA

oh god—the most responsible driver out of his friends by FAR

he is so so happy when he passes, because he is able to get things done quicker with a car than by walking

dropping/picking up his sisters from school, escorting his mother to places, getting groceries, visiting his friends, just about everything in his life is made 10x easier and faster

mitsuya's car ALWAYS smells good

he's always got a new car freshener hooked onto his rearview mirror when the scent runs out

his favourite is lavender <3 and his sisters like the fruity ones but they make his and your's nose tickle

DRIVES WITH ONE HAND ON YOUR KNEE !!!!!

and he does that fucking cute side smile when he talks to you but also needs to pay attention to the road

AHHH <3

LOVES to bring his sisters on drives around the neighbourhood once he gets his full license

plays their favourite songs and sings out loud with them

it'll be cartoon openings and disney soundtracks but he doesn't mind

not when the grin on your's and his sister's faces are so bright and genuine

omfg - picnics where you two set up food in the trunk and watch luna and mana play at the playground

and they rush over when they're hungry to eat and rest

HOW FUCKING CUTE AND PERFECT

MITSUYA TAKASHI IS PERFECT

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