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Please write a chef! Villian who adores to cook for their people, literally. They even cook for their sidekick and their henchmen. But never ever for their oh so devilishly beautiful and just as infuriating hero. (whom they have SWORN to never cook for)

But once when hero's parent falls ill, villian is the one who cooks for them so they can get better. However, they are unable finish all of the food, thus ask their kid (the hero) to have the leftovers

Hero, (who unbeknownst to villian was literally starving for days as they were busy) loves the little bits food they had and when they tell that to their Villian, their faux cold demeanor breaks down completely..... And fluff happens next?????

I really hope you don't mind writing on this! Cooking for someone is willingly wanting to nourish them. I just wanted to see that in an enemies to lovers dynamic...

“You’re looking less terrible,” the villain noted as soon as they stepped into the living room. The hero blinked up at them owlishly from the couch, a mangled crochet project clutched in their hands. It was all so horribly mundane.

“Thanks,” the hero said dryly. “Just what I needed to hear.”

Truly, though, it hadn’t been a dig. The hero did look slightly better: there was color in their cheeks, that exhausted sheen had vanished from their eyes. Their hands weren’t shaking around their crochet hook.

“Your mom is out of the hospital?”

A shadow of that tiredness passed over the hero’s face. It was gone in a blink.

“If you don’t already know the answer to that, I'll be disappointed.”

The villain raised their hands, drifting through the living room. They peered down at a childhood photo of the hero, all toothy grin and smeared ice cream. “Just making conversation.”

The hero sighed.

“She’s home on bed rest, now,” the hero said, quietly, like they were trying not to wake her up. “She’s doing better, she is, it’s just not…” they trailed off.

“She’s still sick,” the villain supplied. The hero nodded when the villain turned back around.

“I don’t know why I expected her to be better as soon as she came home.” The hero sounded so small, in that moment. Like they were still that little kid in their childhood photo album, and not someone who saved the city on the daily.

The villain shrugged. “Because you’re human. Human’s don’t like it when the people they love are hurt.”

“Maybe,” the hero agreed.

The villain slid their gaze over the room once more, snagging on an empty tupperware container balanced on the edge of the coffee table.

Their tupperware container.

Which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, exactly. As soon as they had gotten word that the hero’s mother was in the hospital–which had been as soon as it happened–they had gathered a week's worth of meals and sent it over. And then, they had done it again the next week, and it became just one of the things the villain did. They cooked for themself, their sidekick, their henchmen, and now, the hero’s mother.

They knew the hero’s mother had figured it out, but she had known better than to say anything. The villain didn’t swear on much, but they had sworn to never cook for the hero. Even their mother was cutting it a little bit too close to that.

The hero followed their gaze to the container and blushed.

“Sorry, I meant to clean that up–”

The villain cocked their head. 

The hero stammered for a moment in the resulting silence, “Someone’s been sending my mom food. She can’t always finish it, because she’s…” they trailed off, like they couldn’t bear to say the word “sick”. “She gives me the leftovers,” they finally finished.

The villain had nothing to say to that.

“Hm.”

“Yeah, um,” the hero looked down, tossing aside their terribly failing project. “Normally I get by just fine, you know, I’m not incompetent,” the hero added quickly, like they were worried the villain would judge them for it.

The hero swallowed, and again, that yawning and endlessly exhausted look loomed over their face. The villain wanted to never, ever see it again. “But there was patrol, and then the agency wanted me to do publicity, and then I was with my mom at the hospital whenever I wasn’t working and I just–I’m just really tired.”

Seeing it on the hero’s face, in their posture as they slumped against any available surface when they had even a second to rest, in the bruises from hits they should have been able to avoid easily, was one thing.

But hearing them admit it–

“Get up,” the villain said. Something inside them felt raw at the look on the hero’s face.

“Why?”

“I’m making you food,” the villain said easily. It was anything but.

The hero froze, a deer in headlights, before glancing down at the tupperware and back to the villain.

“You’re the one sending the food.”

Even sleep deprived out of their mind, their hero had always been quick.

“And the one cooking it,” the villain added, and the hero gaped at them.

“Why,” they managed a moment later, hand clutching into the armrest of the couch like it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“I like your mother,” the villain picked up the tupperware, hero watching them the entire time. “And you’re not entirely terrible.”

The hero barked out a surprised laugh.

“I’m not entirely terrible,” they repeated.

“No, you’re not,” the villain agreed. “Now, get up.”

The hero got up.

Before the hero could do something stupid, like ask again what they were doing, or a trip over their own discarded crochet, the villain hushed them.

“I’m making you food,” they said, and the hero’s mouth closed. The villain sighed, looping their hand around the hero’s wrist. “Now shut up, and let me take care of you.”

The hero looked at them like they had never had someone do that. Like they hadn’t even considered the possibility that they might need help as much as the people they took care of did.

The villain had enough of their idiot face, turning to drag them to the kitchen.

The hero went.

That terrible, awful look never showed up on the hero’s face again.

The villain made sure of that.

I’m just thinking that a time-travel AU that requires the team to reorient as Mandalorians where, at the first incident of someone asking questions, Obi-Wan declares “I know their names as my children” about Anakin and Ahsoka, making both of them cry later on in private, would be very nice, actually.

This wasn’t planned! He just SAID it!

“These are my kids,” says Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the spot, thinking it’s just a convenient and largely accurate way to describe his relationship with these young people in his care, completely missing the fact that he’s secured Anakin’s obsessive will-kill-for-you loyalty in the span of two seconds.

“That was just a cover, right?” “It might as well be true, Anakin, I did raise you for half your life and trained you as a warrior, that counts by Mando standards, and explaining Jedi-style apprenticeships would–” “I think Skyguy’s just asking if you really think of him as family.” “Well, obviously.”

Maybe he waffles a bit about age and how he’s not really OLD ENOUGH to be Anakin’s father but from a cultural perspective–

Just like… Obi-wan using a lot of hedging words because he’s allergic to telling Anakin he cares, but also, Anakin is basically his son-brother.

(Ahsoka knows but would def appreciate hearing, but Anakin… that kind of verbal confirmation would mean a lot.)

Christ alive this writing! My heart!

Smegtober- Day 1 (Memory)

TW: Arnold Rimmer's Terrible Childhood

Rimmer stood at the railing of the observation deck, his eyes fixated on no particular point of the swell of inky darkness that painted the sky. The letter from his mother wasn't a shock; they're all dead, aren't they? Three million years had passed. Of course they would be. 

The news of his father's death, the letter in her rushed hand, lax and uncaring, reminded him of the way even tender and emotional moments were cut short; she had no time for fools. That's all Arnold was to her, wasn't he? A fool. A rather unfortunate mishap. 

On a good day, he was a stain on his mother's record; at least his brothers bore a resemblance to their father: intelligent, masculine, full of potential. Arnold was far from the standard of the boys that came before him. He was weak. 

Rimmer shuffled uncomfortably, the pressure on his hologramatic feet from the floor of the observation deck not quite right. He wasn't real anymore.

Looking out at the stars, every speckle of light gleaming, their beauty unreachable, untouchable, he knew they were also dead, like him, only they were something to behold. They were wondrous. 

He relished every second he spent with his telescope as a young child, the domes of lo separating him from the vastness of space. Nothing ever changed. He was still the dullest light in a sky full of potential. He would never escape who he was. Nothing. It was something he was unable to forget.

He hated his father, he hated his mother, his brothers; most of all, he hated how he still yearned for their approval and adoration. More than anything, he needed someone to tell him he was worth more than what he could give. 

He longed to devour love if anyone had ever been willing to offer; he clawed and spat, the bitterness dripping from his tongue, sharp and silver, warding off anyone who dared pry into the carcass of his soul. 

Lister prodded; he pried and poked at Rimmer's mind as if he was a sleeping bear, luring him into sharing his secrets with his honey brown eyes and sticky, sweet words that dripped from his lips. As sickly as they were, they made Rimmer feel weak. 

Even now, he was still chasing adoration.

I don't know why I love it so much when someone calls Lister David, but I do. We should do it more often.

Wonderful as usual darling. ❤️

Smegtober- Day 11 (Jelousy)

“A touch-T,” Howard practically purred, his smile off putting to Rimmer as he watched him practically plead for Lister's touch. Benign as his intentions were outwardly, Rimmer wasn't an idiot; he knew Howard. He also knew Lister just as well. Lister eventually clutched Howard's head in his hands…

Even then, Rimmer felt sick. His brother's lustful smirk, eyes roaming over his bunkmate’s body in that tight elasticated jumpsuit. Taking his chance, Rimmer pried his brother away from the liverpudlian, his ears practically ringing when he suggested Lister try again.

A wave of relief washed over the younger Rimmer as he convinced his brother to accept a tour, though the thought of Howard's hungry gaze still made him nauseous. 

“What's the matter, Arnie?” Howard spat as he asked, naturally smug.

“You know what, ‘Howie’,” Rimmer hissed in return, “the way you're drooling over David. It's disgusting.” 

Howard let out a chuckle, “Am I sensing jealousy, brother? Am I a threat?”

“Not at all,” Rimmer scoffed, albeit unconvincingly, “I have no interest in men.” 

Howard squawked, a nasally laugh, “Aww, little brother,” he pinched his cheek, “you really aren't fooling anybody.” 

Scowling, Rimmer felt his blood run cold, pushing his brother back and huffing as he abandoned Howard and Crawford, storming back to the drive room. Lister ,still stood with his phone pressed to his ear, leaning over the top of a control panel, lips pursed, turned to face him ipon his entrance, concerned.

“Hey, Rimmer, man,” he lowered the phone, already noticing the hologram's blotchy cheeks and watery eyes, “What happened?”

Frustrated, Rimmer rubbed his face, “Nothing,” he growled, defensive. 

Lister wasn't stupid…

Footsteps echoed as The stimulant and other hologram approached; Sparks went off in Lister's mind, a beautifully evil idea, perfect as it was sinister.

He cupped Arnold's cheek and gushed dramatically, “Oh, Arnie.”

The hologram met his eyes with confusion; Lister pulled him into a kiss, groaning over-enthusiastically as Howard strutted in, smugness draining from his features at the sight. His eyes span. A resentment jam.

Grinning like he had won a prize, the human pulled away, proud of his work, “That'll show the smegger.” 

Rimmer snuggling a kitten! Be still my heart!

How do you always see into my soul? ❤️

Smegtober- Day 12 (Promises)

Stumbling into the room, Rimmer returned from Z shift, exhausted and ready to collapse. He considered revision before he had even finished his shift and decided against it today, something was just not right with him; from the moment he woke up, he felt heavy. Greeted by the sight of Lister sat hunched over on the floor, legs crossed and button up shirt pulled to shield whatever was in between them, Rimmer closed the door behind him. 

“Lister, what the smeg are you doing?”

He turned his head to look at him, not moving his body and pulling his shirt harder to cover whatever rested in his lap. The shirt rustled and meowed. 

“Nothin’,” he defended,” It's none of your business.” 

“You are unbelievable,” Rimmer scolded, crouching down at Lister's side and lowering his voice, “do you have any idea of the penalty for smuggling an unquarantined animal on board?”

“Yes, Rimmer,” he hissed, pulling his shirt  back to reveal a rather large, black cat, “I'm aware… but she needed a home. She's pregnant.”

Sinking further down to sit next to the third technician, Rimmer stared at the cat momentarily as though it was an alien, her large green eyes seeming to plead with him. He shook his head. Cats aren't that smart, Rimmer thought to himself, then again, neither is Lister.

The scouser gave him a similar look, brown eyes wide and pleading, just like the cat, “Please, Rimmer. Don't tell anyone. She's gentle and well behaved and I promise, I swear on me life, that she's clean. Cleaner than me even.” 

“Well, anything's cleaner than you,” the second technician mumbled with a sigh, slowly holding out his hand for the cat to sniff. She nuzzled into him, a soft purr emanating from her and reverberating on his hand as she pressed against him. 

“Rimmer, please promise me you wont tell anyone about Frankenstein.” Lister begged again. 

“Fine, I promise,” he tried his best to sound cold, failing miserably as the feline continued to pander for his attention, “But Frankenstein? Really?”

“It's a class name,” Lister protested, A grin plastered over his features, “and when I first got her I thought she was a boy.”

“You’re a total gimp, Listy,” he finally let a smile creep onto his lips, cooing as he picked up Frankenstein and pulled her onto his own lap, planting a small kiss between her ears and stroking her gently.

How did I not see this one? STOP WATCHING MY DREAMS! ❤️

Smegtober- Day 4 (Virtual Reality)

TW: Blood/Bodily Harm

He had been made the closest thing he would ever be to human again… The sand on the beach of better than life was rough, coarse in between his fingers as it fell back to the floor with a wet plop. Rimmer grimaced at the noise but reveled in the knowledge he had been the one to make it. He had a physical presence. He was almost flesh. 

Looking to his left, his eyes rested on Lister, his gaze fixated on his neck; a soft patch of the same type of flesh Rimmer was once made out of. He wondered how his skin differed, lingering too long and too close for Lister's comfort. 

He bared his teeth in an awkward smile. Lister knitted his eyebrows together in confusion as a way of response, facing Rimmer with his whole body as he said something the hologram couldn't quite process. The sound stung. It wordlessly echoed in his skull, his ears buzzing with the reverberated twang of Lister's voice. 

Grasping at his shoulders, Rimmer’s Eyes didn't leave his neck as he ran his thumbs across the material of his jacket. He winced at the noise; Polyester was never his favorite. Head sinking down to the shoulder of his bunk mate, Rimmer pulled him into an embrace, clamping onto smooth, human skin with his teeth and drawing blood. Lister shrieked and struggled against his grip. Rimmer did not relent. 

He buried his pearly whites deeper into him, groaning at the taste of sweet copper when he withdrew his fangs, tracing the wound with his tongue. Breath shaking, he savored the feeling of warmth, sticky and thick, in his mouth. 

Lister kicked, forcing Rimmer back into the sand as he scrambled for the exit, dragging The Cat with him. Blood dripped from Rimmer's lips, staining his teeth and chin. Tears fell from his eyes; They were warm and wet against his simulated skin; exhausted, he let his head fall back into the sand, high on coming so close to humanity, his mind still reeling from the taste of real flesh and blood… as real as he could get. 

Another amazing ficlet from my bestie hubs (hubby? Idk). ❤️

Smegtober- Day 14 (Nicknames)

“Why do you call me that?” Lister enquired, out of nowhere, propping his head on his hand, elbow resting on his pillow. 

“Call you what?” Rimmer responded from the bunk beneath him.

“You know what I mean. ‘Listy’”, he continued, realising the hologram might overthink, “Not that I mind. Just curious.” 

Rimmer was silent for a moment, wringing his hands, staring at the underside of Lister's bunk as though he would miraculously be able to see his face- read what he was thinking. Finally, he willed himself to respond, “I don't know... I can stop.” 

“No. It's fine,” the human persisted with damage control, “You don't need to stop.”

The second technician shook his head, shortly feeling ridiculous at the realisation his bunkmate couldn't even see him, “I don't even notice I'm doing it most of the time.” 

“Well, there you go, then. It's all fine.”

“But it isn't.”

Lister rolled his eyes, “How isn't it?”

“Well,” Rimmer paused for a moment, in thought, “for one, it's not even like we both do it. It's just me,” another pause, this time shorter, “ and I'm pretty sure it started maliciously.”

Lister chuckled, a cheeky grin bestowed upon his face, “Awwe, are you tellin’ me it's affectionate now?”

“Shut up,” the older man sulked.

“Don't be like that,” the third technician teased, “I think it's quite cute how you secretly adore me.”

Rimmer jumped up from his bunk to face Lister, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “I do not adore you!” He exclaimed defensively, his fists balled by his sides. Lister's smirk was unbearable. 

“Hey, don't be like that,” he said in his usual sickly sweet tone of mockery, “you don't need to tell me. It's been decades and we're still sharing a room.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he folded his arms, a scowl on his lips that didn't quite convince Lister. 

“Listen, man, I'm just sayin’ I know you, and you know me,” Lister sat up, attempting to look Rimmer in the eyes, “and on a ship the size of a small city, after all this time, we still sleep in the same room.” 

Rimmer avoided his gaze, “that's irrelevant. It is JMC regulation that-”

“And who exactly is still around to hold you to that?” Lister cut him off, “Why does it bother you so much anyway?”

“It doesn't,” he hissed, “I just don't like what you're implying.”

Lister sighed heavily, a huff of annoyance, “and what exactly am I implying?”

He had no reply. Pushing himself off the bunk, the human groaned at the ache in his knees; he took the hologram's hand between his, rubbing small circles on the back of it. Rimmer, sight fixed on his encased hand, stood frozen in place, as though in a trance. 

“Look, Rimmer,” Lister began gently, “all I'm sayin is I care about you and, I think, underneath all this neurosis, you care about me too.”

Smiling weakly, Lister moved one of his hands from Rimmer's own to his cheek, standing on his toes and chastley connecting their lips. Rimmer blinked. His expression read as though he had short curicted, like he was learning how to breathe again; his face finally decided to congeal into a slack jawed impression of disbelief. Lister playfully stuck his tongue out, breath caught in his throat when his bunkmate gripped his lapels, pulling him back in.

old fashioned: iwaizumi hajime songfic/drabble

(bold is song lyrics, italics is dialogue. enjoy <3)

(ALSO DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO CALL THIS IS IT A FICLET?? ONESHOT??)

gn! reader

(disclaimer: the music won't match with the time the lyrics pop up so if you were expecting something cool like that i'm sorry i don't write that well)

you and haji just finished a movie you two put on while waiting for the hours, the minutes, to tick by. the lights are dim, and the main source of light was produced by the moon from your kitchen window.

you’re now washing the dishes from your late dinner, as haji wipes the counter clean. you guys were in comfortable, almost silent silence doing your own chores. during late nights like these when you’re basking in each others presence, you and haji like to play music from your shared playlist. as you were wiping your hands dry, hajime comes behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, when the song “old fashioned” by bruno major comes on.

“dance with me, love,” he says as he takes your dried hands into his. you wrap your arms around his neck, and he wraps his around your waist. you start softly swaying to the mellow beat of the song while staring into each others eyes.

“but i don’t care, i think i’ll fall in love with you.”

the song is whispering in the background. nothing matters. you’re with hajime and all you can think about is him, and all he can think about is you.

“you’re such a romantic iwa,” you say with a soft smile.

“idiot. only with you.” haji says with a light blush as he smiles back at you.

it’s comforting. you’re the only one who can bring out this side of him. you’re the only one who sees him in his soft moments.

"i wish we could stay like this forever," you start to speak, "you and me. dancing at almost midnight like we aren't so tired we could pass out."

he chuckles at that. "i don't mind having more instances like this in our future. we can even do it at our wedding."

you instantly get flustered and glance up at that. "iwa! at least propose first before saying that!" you playfully hit his chest and you both softly laugh.

"noted," he says with a fond smile.

“i’ll be smiling, a bigger smile than before."

as the climax to the final chorus plays, he playfully spins you as your giggles fade in with the night. love. happiness. joy. compassion. it's all there in this moment. the intensity and the power of the vocals only make this moment more memorable.

when the last repeat of the chorus plays, you lean against his chest and the clock strikes 12. the music grows softer and more rested, much like the beginning of the song.

“happy birthday hajime. i love you.”

“i love you too,” he says with a kiss on your forehead.

“i’ll take you somewhere new… and i’ll be old fashioned for you.”

aoba johsai masterlist

a stupid shank: he's such an evil character. He has to die.

Me:.......

Me: excuse YOU sir, that's my emotional support killer.

This is a masterpiece

“Uh, Professor, er, sir,” Harry stumbled over the seldom-used honorifics in his bafflement. “Uh, on your mouth…?”

“Lipstick, Potter,” Snape sneered, the expression all the more pronounced with the cosmetic assistance.

“Oh, uh, it’s, um, it’s black?” Harry hadn’t known lipstick came in anything other than his aunt’s subdued pinks or the vivid shades of red that Petunia considered sinful and salacious (and intolerably reminiscent of Lily to ever be permitted back into the precariously normal life of Number Four, Privet Drive).

“Very good, Potter,” Snape said sarcastically. “Twelve years old and you’ve learned your colors.”

That was pure nastiness and entirely unfair.

“I’m fifteen!”  Harry protested, which earned him a merely sardonic eyebrow. “Almost fifteen,” he amended.  “I’ll be fifteen on Monday.”

Harry longed to surpass Snape in sheer churlishness and considered pointing out that muggle men generally didn’t wear skirts.  Certainly not in Little Whinging.  Definitely not when Dudley and his gang were roaming the streets.

He’d seen plenty of oblivious wizards sporting spiffy new dresses as their muggle disguises at the Quidditch World Cup the previous summer (a lifetime ago, before Cedric was murdered and he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening).  But there was something peculiarly well-tailored and suspiciously well-worn about the Potions Master’s garb that suggested less “disguise” and more “daily wear”. He found that his brain was oddly unwilling to acknowledge the existence of Snape’s psychedelic cardigan. His mind kept trying desperately to wallpaper something sensible over the bizarre image his eyes insisted on perceiving.

“…nice skirt,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Snape drawled the false gratitude out with a smirk. “It has pockets.  Dipshit and Dumbass there were too excited to get on the road this morning and didn’t give me any time to do laundry.”

“Am I ‘Dipshit’ or am I ‘Dumbass’?” Sirius whispered loudly, grin gone well past manic.

“I believe Severus called me a ‘dipshit’ among other things for forgetting to take my Wolfsbane last year,” Remus replied thoughtfully, “So, Sirius, that probably makes you the dumbass.”

“I’m more of a hot piece of ass, but okay,” Sirius said with a wink. “Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said weakly, glad for the excuse to sidle past Snape.  “Uh, what are you doing here?” The Daily Prophet hadn’t said anything about Sirius being pardoned and news like that, while less of an urgent headline than Voldemort’s return, wouldn’t lurk about in the society pages or behind an advice column.

“Dumbledore told me to lie low at Lupin’s place,” Sirius beamed with an innocence so intense it could only be artificial.

“And, er, well, what with one thing and another, it really hadn’t seemed like a good time really to mention that I’d been, ah, evicted,” Lupin added, “…again.”

“Renting really seems like such a bother,” Sirius opined. “So I bought a house for Remus here.”

“Oh,” said Harry, who had witnessed Aunt Petunia compulsively twitching the curtains as she tried to discover how Mrs. Number Seven had eluded neighborly surveillance and, somehow, managed to sell her house to a person or persons unknown to the remaining residents of Privet Drive. “Isn’t that supposed to take a long time?”

“Building a home takes a lifetime,” Sirius said sagely. “Buying a house just takes money.”

Snape’s scornful snort brought Harry’s attention back to the least welcome visitor to Little Whinging.

“So, uh, why did you bring,” Harry gestured vaguely, unsure if the word ‘him’ could accurately encompass the snidest professor present, “Snape?” He’d rather noticed that Snape hadn’t lifted a finger to help Sirius and Lupin move any of the large boxes from the lorry into Number Seven.

“Severus knows how to drive,” Lupin explained gently. Sirius’ mouth opened, prepared to protest.

“Severus,” Lupin repeated, louder this time, “Has a valid muggle license to drive.” Sirius’ subsided.

“And I know how to hot-wire cars and lorries,” Severus added smoothly. “And,” Lupin echoed wearily, “ Severus knows how to ‘hot-wire’ muggle vehicles.”

“I’m learning to do that,” Sirius said helpfully, “I’m going to figure it out too.  I’ve nearly got it.”

“Talk is cheap, Black,” Snape scoffed starting to stroll in the last direction Harry wanted him to go, “I’ll believe you when I see some tangible results.”

“Wait!  Stop!” Harry wondered if he’d get in trouble for tackling a professor outside of Hogwarts.  It would be worth it, to try to alter Snape’s trajectory towards the front door of Number Four.  “Stop, stop, stop!”

For all Harry’s desperate scrambling, Snape maintained his lead.

“Please stop!” Harry begged as the professor hitched up his skirt slightly, “Use the bell!  You don’t have to kick the door in!” Aunt Petunia was probably at the door, surely she’d spied them across the street at Number Seven.

Snape kicked the door, already unlatched in Petunia’s nosy anticipation, open.

Aunt Petunia let out a shrill little scream.

“Hello, Piss-Tuna,” said Severus Snape, far more gleeful than he’d been even when Harry and Ron were facing the threat of expulsion after flying a car into the Whomping Willow. “You look as awful as ever.”

Piss-Tuna, Harry thought as his world tilted on its axis, Snape, Professor Snape, just called my aunt Piss-Tuna.  This can’t be happening.

“You—!” Her face was white, her eyes were wide, and Petunia Dursley, née Evans, practically growled in her outrage.

Harry found himself thinking that Brazil might be a very nice place to live. It was far away from Privet Drive, for a start.  He wondered what it would take to get there.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Tuney?” Snape’s foot had blocked the door from closing.  “I’m more than happy to have this confrontation on your front step if you’d prefer.”

“We, ah, brought some biscuits,” Lupin added. “Store bought. Assorted.  With chocolate.  Er, I’m, ah, we’re the new neighbors. So nice to meet you again.”

Petunia goggled at the lot of them.

She also stumbled back, which Snape seemed to take as an unspoken invitation.  Harry found himself dragged along in the professor’s wake, with only Sirius’ hand on his shoulder to steady him in the swift tide of strangeness.

“I can’t believe your taste in interior decoration deteriorated into this level of disgusting kitsch and doilies, Tuna,” said the man who decorated with floating dead things in jars. Severus surveyed the photos on the wall, on the mantle, on the little side table.  So many perfectly posed pictures of a happy family of three- mother, father, son- and a lock on the cupboard under the stairs. Narcissa had been absolutely right.

“Is that my jumper?” Harry jumped.  Petunia’s voice was high and thin and quite peculiar.

“You’ve really done a terrible job of raising Potter,” said Snape, and Harry bristled. Of course Snape wanted to criticize him, Harry had been expecting the criticism, but he loathed the thought of his two biggest critics were now sharing notes and combining forces.

“Not only is he, like the majority of students, a careless menace in the laboratory, but I have also wasted entirely too much of my already limited time deciphering his atrocious penmanship to correct insipid essay after insipid essay only to see the same flawed reasonings repeated week after week.” It was news to Harry that he was supposed to read the sea of spidery red notes Snape deposited on every essay.  It seemed rather unfair, given that Snape could fit five lines of text for every one line Harry wrote. The single “P”, or the occasional and welcome “A”, was more than sufficient in Harry’s view.

“That’s my jumper.” There was a touch of hysteria in Petunia’s tone now.

“He will be taking his O.W.L.s this year, his O-levels if you prefer,” Snape continued, demonstrating more confidence in Harry’s continued survival than Harry typically expected to hear from the Potions Master. “Unfortunately, his current record of scholastic mediocrity, his stubborn refusal to revise, and a peculiar incuriosity about magical theory does not bode well for his continued academic career.”

“You little bastard! That’s my goddamn jumper!” Petunia’s shriek derailed Snape’s momentum.  The unexpected profanity from his aunt made Harry’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Tuna,” Snape frowned, “We’re not here to discuss my sartorial decisions and I will never take wardrobe critique from you.  I only deigned to enter this suburban hellscape to discuss your horrendous failure to raise and parent Mr. Potter.”

“Biscuit, Harry?” Sirius offered, retrieving the tin from Remus.

“You stole my jumper!” Shockingly, Petunia’s epiphany failed to shatter glass.  Yet.

“Didn’t,” sniffed Snape.

“I thought it was Lily who stole my jumper!”

“She did. I just hid it for her.” 

“I bought that jumper myself!  I’d saved up!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was for an interview!”

“We wanted to spare you the humiliation of being seen in public wearing such a hideous thing.  You even got that position, even if you didn’t keep it for very long.”

The biscuit was rather good, even without tea, and it was beginning to dawn on Harry that Snape and Aunt Petunia were more inclined to tear into one another than join forces against him. He felt oddly inclined to cheer for Professor Snape, despite the ranting about Harry’s scholastic shortcomings. Perhaps it was because Harry knew so little about his mother that every glimpse was a pearl he treasured.

“I want my jumper!” Did she learn that tone from her little Diddykins or had Dudley inherited that petulant demanding pitch from Petunia?

“And I want you to understand how your failure to nourish any academic inclinations Mr. Potter may have shown before the age of eleven may have rather dire consequences for futures beyond his own, but I fear we can’t all get what we want.” Remus handed Harry another biscuit before he could think to protest.

“Give me back my jumper!”

“Fine!” Snape finally snapped, fingers tearing at the buttons in wrathful haste.  “Fine, here!”

Petunia caught the cardigan with her face and a squeak.

Severus Snape looked like a stranger again, in the ratty, oversized band shirt, hair disheveled from the jumper’s passage.  Harry hadn’t seen the Dark Mark his professor had shoved under Minister Fudge’s nose in the Hospital Wing those few weeks ago, and he found himself oddly glad that the mark was concealed under a peculiar leather bracelet with metal studding.  A wand holster, perhaps.

“Are you prepared to face your shortcomings now, Tuney?” That dangerously silky tone was entirely familiar, and Harry took another biscuit before he was told to go serve detention during summer vacation.

“It smells like Cokeworth,” Petunia’s complaint was bitter, for she dreaded the day her neighbors discovered the lingering taint of the Cokeworth streets sullying their Surrey security.

“Hey,” said Sirius, who had gone oddly still.

“I wasn’t going to take it to Hogwarts, was I?” Snape said.  “It’s acrylic, you know that sort of stuff doesn’t hold up around magic.”

“Hey,” said Sirius.  “Hey.” His face was a rictus of delight, as pleased as Petunia had been put out. “Snape. Isn’t that, isn’t that my shirt you’ve got on?”

“Oh, oh,” snarled Severus.  “Not you too!”

Posting this in the middle of the night because it’s honestly sort of silly, but here we are. Take 500 words of BOTW pesterlogs.

Twins?

Movie: The Island (2005)

Character: Lincoln Six Echo

Oneshot/Ficlet

Word Count: 382

Synopsis: Lincoln Six Echo encounters twins for the first time.

A/N: I am thinking about making a collection of oneshots for this character centered around his first experiences in the real world. Maybe call it “Firsts” or something. I also want to challenge myself to write a fic once a week so that I can improve my writing.

Lincoln Six Echo was taking a morning stroll on his local park’s walking path. His best friend, Jordan Two Delta, was still asleep when he left the house. Although they normally did everything together, he loved how peaceful she looked while sleeping and didn't want to wake her. He breathed in the fresh morning air and smiled at the joggers that passed him by. At the Institute, the clones participated in daily morning exercises. The harsh overhead lights and frigid air conditioning of the Institute could never compare to the soft glow of the rising sun and the cool gentle breeze of the outside world.

He then saw a woman walking towards him and pushing two large connected chairs with wheels. A "stroller" he remembered learning from Jordan Two Delta who loved talking to mothers at the park. Each chair seated a young child and as the woman drew closer, he noticed the children were dressed in matching outfits. Oh, Jordan is going to love hearing about this! He smiled at the woman and then realized that the children weren't just dressed the same, they looked exactly the same!

"I have never seen a clone this young at the Institute before. And the Institute was destroyed weeks ago, so where did she get a clone?" Lincoln wondered.

The woman smiled back at Lincoln and he stopped her before she passed him.

“Excuse me, ma’am! Your-your child has a clone. How is that possible?”

The woman looked dumbfounded at Lincoln, then at her children, then back at Lincoln before bursting into laughter. “You know what?” She laughed, “I've never heard twins called clones before but I guess they technically are! I'm going to start saying that just to mess with people. You have a good day, sir! And with that, she continued on her way.

Lincoln was just as confused as he was before but he didn't want to chase the lady down for answers. "Twins, she said. Is a twin like a clone but not a clone? What is the difference?" Lincoln pondered. If only McCord was still alive. He always had the answer. Maybe Jordan could help him understand.

"The more I learn about this world the stranger it seems." He thought. Lincoln shook his head and started back home.

Only the Shadows Know

Movie: Mortdecai (2015)

Characters: Inspector Alistair Martland

Oneshot / Yandere / Drabble

Word Count: 100

Synopsis: While her husband is away, Martland pays Johanna a secret visit.

A/N: So of course the moment I said that wanted to write at least once a week, I didn't touch the computer for a full month 🤦‍♂️. Well, no better time than the present to start again! I wasn't feeling any inspiration and didn't know who to write about. Finally, I realized that inspiration isn't something that's always there. Sometimes, you have to just sit down and start writing. Otherwise, you may be waiting for inspiration for an eternity lol. This is my first yandere. I've become interested in the genre and wanted to give it a shot. This is only drabble so it's very short but dang! Writing exactly 100 words was way more challenging than I expected lol.

Martland gazed lovingly at the woman deep in slumber before him. His desire to see her, to protect her, outweighed the risk of being caught. Besides, the sleeping pill he encouraged her to take was doing its job well. How could Mortdecai roam the world and leave his most valuable treasure defenseless? “I would never leave you, my love.” He softly muttered to himself. One day, he will confess his devotion to his angel and she will understand her place is with him. But for now, as he hides in the dark recesses of her room, only the shadows know.

So This is Love

Movie: Beginners (2010)

Characters: Oliver Fields x Fem!Reader

Oneshot / Ficlet

Word Count: 531

Synopsis: Oliver reflects on the moment that he realized he loves you.

//This is my girlfriend. The love of my life. This is her when she’s happy.//

“Oliver, this better not be a prank.” You chuckled hesitantly. You had just got off from work when your boyfriend, Oliver, called you. He said that he had something to show you and it couldn't wait. When you got to his house, you were greeted by him and his dog Arthur waiting at the door for you. He had both hands behind his back and a cheeky grin on his face. Now, you found yourself blindfolded and being led by his hand. Although your boyfriend tended to be quiet and reserved, he still surprised you with bursts of spontaneity.

“Don't worry, I promise this isn't a prank…this time.” He jokingly reassured you. As he led you up the stairs and down the hallway, he smiled from ear to ear at the knowledge of what lay behind his bedroom door. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this giddy. He loved that you brought out this childish joy in him. “Here we are.” He said as he opened the door and gently pulled you inside.

You felt Oliver move behind you and untie your blindfold. When it came off, you blinked a couple times to adjust to the light. You were standing in front of the bed and your eyes were immediately drawn to the tiny ball of fluff on the covers. It was the most adorable calico kitten wearing a tiny red bow.

“Ta-da!” Oliver whispered in your ear as he placed a small peck on your cheek.

Your mind couldn't conjure any words. It was only a week ago that you told Oliver about your childhood cat and how you had to leave her behind when your family moved states. You shared how it broke your heart to give her away and you never forgot her. Now, you walked towards the bed and scooped up the kitty who began nuzzling into your neck.

“Told you it wasn't a prank.” Oliver said while smiling proudly.

Finally, your mouth caught up to your brain but as you turned to your boyfriend all you could utter was, “How?”

“My boss’s cat had a litter and this little one was the only one left without a home.” He explained. “It was such perfect timing that I felt it had to be a sign...do you like her?”

With tears in your eyes you exclaimed, “Oh, Oliver, I love her!” You couldn't believe you’d won the boyfriend lottery. How lucky and loved you felt to have such a thoughtful partner. You turned your attention back to the kitten and gently kissed her little head. The kitty replied with a soft chirp and started trying to climb up your shirt. You cooed at the rambunctious little rascal and closed your eyes in laughter.

Leaning on the doorframe, Oliver soaked in your happiness. Your laughter was the most beautiful sound to his ears. Your smile warmed his heart like the sun. It was at that moment, he knew that he would move heaven and earth if it meant you could stay like this. At that moment, he knew that he loved you.

Tamakyo au where they meet younger and grew up as childhood friends!

Kyoya met Tamaki before he met Tamaki. He hadn't thought much of the other boy, his hair wild and face dirty. He looked like every other commoner as he held his hand out to him, the universal sign for a hand shake.

He wrinkled his nose at the gesture, "I'm sorry, I don't shake hands with commoners."

It didn't matter that Kyoya was told to always be polite. Well, it did, but who would this boy tell? He was no one of importance. Kyoya didn't have to be kind to him. He wasn't bound by rules or frivolous niceties of the upper class. He could be himself. Which mainly meant he could be a brat.

"Oh," the other supplied, a little dumbfounded.

Oh was right. This kid had to be plain stupid to think he could so easily befriend someone so obviously higher in status. Maybe he was stupid. Kyoya knew that the lower class wasn't capable of affording education as nice as his own, it would make sense for their kids to be idiots.

He almost felt bad for the boy, born into the wrong household and now too dumb to comprehend who was socially acceptable to ask for friend ship. A true shame. Perhaps they could have been friends if the other were better educated (and tied to a business that could aid his father's).

Not that Kyoya wanted anymore "friends", they were quite exhausting to handle.

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not shake hands with a commoner?"

Kyoya definitely didn't feel bad now, just annoyed. Why couldn't he just be left alone? "Why should I? I have nothing to gain from being pleasant with you,"

"Friendship!" He announced, looking extremely proud of himself.

Was this guy serious? Friendship? This wasn't some anime. "Friends should be made out of convenience. I have nothing to gain from a friendship with you,"

Kyoya didn't sit around to see his hurt expression, he could wait for his chauffer somewhere quieter.

___________________________

Kyoya had many regrets, most of which weren't in his control. (Being the youngest, for example.) But never had something gone so obnoxiously wrong as this.

"Kyoya, this is Tamaki Suoh. I would like for you two to get along." He gave him a pointed look, and Kyoya knew what he had to do. But how could he do that? There was no way this kid- Tamaki, would ever be friends with him after Kyoya not only snubbed him, but mistook him for a commoner.

Other kids didn't "work" like Kyoya did. They didn't all bend over backwards for business deals and connections. They were influenced by emotions. They liked people that were nice. People who were kind, who did what they wanted.

Kyoya had fucked up.

He didn't know it was possible to fuck up this badly, intentionally or otherwise.

"Hi," the other offers lamely, as their parents walk away. Likely to discuss some important trade deal or God knows what. Kyoya just hopes he hasn't screwed it up before it's even begun.

"... hello,"

He needed to recover, make an excuse, apologize, something. "Making friends" wasn't usually so hard, but then again, normally wealthy kids didn't dress like scrubs and roll around in the dirt.

"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier today, I was in a terrible mood because my chauffer was running late, I didn't mean to let it out on you. I understand if you don't want to be friends-"

"I-" Kyoya hadn't been expecting an interruption, though he didn't mind it. Maybe this kid hadn't been trained in proper etiquette, his manners seemed to be horribly lacking.

"I... I want to be your friend,"

It took Kyoya a moment to process, because what the hell? He didn't think before blurting,"You want to be friends with... me?"

Kyoya was so obviously playing him! Anyone could tell he didn't actually want to be friends, that he had given an empty excuse to fix what he'd done earlier- how stupid was this kid?

Tamaki looked panicked, like maybe asking to be friends had offended Kyoya. He itched the back of his head, glancing away, wreaking of nervousness, "Only if you want to, too?"

"Why?" And Kyoya needed to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth and just be happy. He could so easily just accept the offer and that would be that. He shouldn't question the other.

But he had to know.

Tamaki stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant by why. "You don't have any friends," he offered quietly, "and I know what that's like. To not have anyone who you can be you around. It's lonely."

He took a breath,, hesitantly meeting Kyoya's eyes, "I need a friend, too, and I think I'd really like if it was you."

Now it was Kyoya's turn to say, "Oh,"

Because he was right. There wasn't anyone Kyoya was "himself" around. Somehow this stranger, who was a complete idiot, had read him like a book.

And for some reason he decided to open up his own pages to Kyoya, too.

"Even though I'm an asshole?"

Tamaki perked up like a puppy after hearing walk, "Even if your an asshole!"

"Then I think I would like to be friends. Real friends,"

If you could write a fic with Tsuzuru, Kazunari, and Misumi dealing with some paranormal/supernatural thing? Just something light hearted. If you don’t it’s fine but I think it’d be neat and thank you

aaa thanks for requesting!! Hope you like it!

-------

It was supposed to be a normal night for writing, winter’s next show was coming up and Tsuzuru knew very well he was far behind schedule

so what was he doing hiding in a pillow fort in the living room

“Ah! Did you hear that Tsuzuroon! I think I heard footsteps!” next to him were Kazunari and Misumi, the only light being from Kazunari’s phone, and a little triangle lantern Misumi was holding (which Tsuzuru was a little too scared to ask where it came from, since he swore it wasn’t there moments ago.)

“I couldn’t hear anything over your texting Miyoshi, are you sure there is even something here? Maybe you were just hearing another troupe member. Masumi has returned to his old habit of making curry at 4 am again...” he sighed, recalling the memory of a few nights back of being woken up by Masumi asking him where he put the rice, despite Tsuzuru having made it very well known he had morning classes the next day.

“Nope!” Misumi chirped, shaking his head. “I came home from triangle hunting last night and everyone was asleep! All snuggled tightly in their beds having triangle dreams!”

Tsuzuru sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Let me rephrase that, are you sure you didn't hear Ikaruga last night, Miyoshi?”

“LMAO Wouldn’t that be funny!? Nah Sumi is always supes quiet after Frooch scolded him for being too loud, which is totes cool, you know one time-” He was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the kitchen, along with a strange groan, which quite everyone in the fort.

“You heard that, right?”

“Mmh, see, I told you so Tsuzuroon.”

“Now isn’t the time for- okay whatever. What do we do now?”

“I dunno, what do you think Sumi... Sumi?” The pair looked over to see no one there, the blanket door to their fort open, and the triangle lantern left discarded.

“I have a bad feeling about this,”

“Well, save that for later! We gotta save Sumi! Man, this is so going on the ‘blam. We’re the MANKAI ghostbusters! Let's go!” Once Kazunari made a show of putting on an inste-live, he left the tent, Tsuzuru following after.

The pair slowly crept along, following the now growing groans and sounds, which seemed to be getting louder.

The pair finally ended up at the entrance to the kitchen, taking a deep breath before shining the light on the area in front of them, prepared for whatever kind of ghoul that would face.

Instead, they found Matsukawa groaning face down on the cool tile, Misumi sitting on his back and eating an Onigiri. The 19-year-old boy grinned, looking up at the two and flashing a peace.

“I found the ghost! He was trying to take my Onigiri so I tackled him!”

Tsuzuru let out the loudest sigh one would think was possible, as Kazunari laughed and ran up to Misumi, grinning as he turned his camera around and pointed it at the two, snapping a selfie.

“OMG That’s totes hilarious, LOL amirite Tsuzuroon! Tsuzuroon?” The art student looked up, only to see Tsuzuru collapsed on the ground, sleeping soundly, a puddle of drool already starting to form.

“Seems like the stakeout tired him out, lol, wanna help me drag him to bed Sumi?”

“Okay! Only if Kazu promises we can do this again!” Misumi grinned, still ignoring the soft groans of the manager he was sitting on.

“Got it! Let’s have weekly stakeouts! Tsuzuroon too!”

“I’ll pass.”

The pair’s direction suddenly turned to the sound of the once dead writer, to find him yet again, passed out on the floor.

Maybe 👉👈 some Muku and Yuki 👉👈 just being cute 👉👈 for the request thing? 👉👈

brooooo I love Muku & Yuki anything

------

“What do you think of this one Yuki-Kun?” Muku asked, shoving the manga in his friends face, his mouth beaming from behind the volume.

“I can’t see it if you shove it that close you idiot.” Yuki scolded, yet despite his harsh words, he scooted himself backwards to see the book. Their school was having a costume contest for a fundraiser, and Yuki had promised Muku he would help him cosplay a manga character, little did he know how difficult of a task that would be.

These authors always add way too many dumb details, isn’t that a pain to draw? Yuki thought to himself, looking at the cover of the newest suggestion. It had a prince, purple hair and bright blue eyes, in a purple basic prices outfit, though it obviously had taken some reference from historic western military uniforms with the golden button placement, and the sword at his side. At the prince's side was a princess, long blonde locks falling past her shoulders with little roses scattered through her hair. She was wearing a baby blue gown, with mesh shoulders and puffed sleeves that tightened at her wrists. Little butterflies were scattered throughout the gown.

“Hm, this one seems doable, I will have yo go and buy some new purple fabric, but I already have some buttons leftover from when I revamped the costumes for RomeJuli, plus I’m sure the Elite Swindler has a sword you could borr-”

“Oh, Yuki-Kun?” Muku’s meek voice broke his train of thought, changing Yuki’s attention to focus on his troupe-mate.

“Hm? What is it Muku? Did you change your mind?”

“Um, not exactly.” Muku’s cheeks seemed to go almost as pink as his hair as he carefully took back the manga, pointing to the princess on the cover.

“I was sort of hoping you would do that one... I love the heroine in this manga. She's so feisty and strong, not caring what others think about her. She’s so cool... like you Yuki-Kun. So I was sort of hoping I could dress like her if that’s okay...” He held up the book to hide his flushed face, quietly muttering how he knew he could never be like her because he was nothing but a “discarded piece of lettuce that fell from a salad and onto the floor where ht would collect dust and not even be enjoyed by the ants.”

“Okay.” Yuki's voice stopped Muku before he could continue on his tangent, and he peeked from behind the novel to look at him.

“Really?”

“Sure, I can’t see why it would be a problem. It’s  areally pretty dress...” Yuki picked up another volume of the same series, flipping though to find a full-length view of the gown and started writing down some notes.

“Oh... Thank you Yuki-Kun!” Muku beamed, going over to hug his friend only to be stopped because of possible wrinkles.

“Oh, sorry Yuki-Kun, I wasn't thinking...” Muku gave a nervous chuckle, but Yuki shook his head and laughed.

“Stop apologizing wonder-boy. You can make it up to me by showing off my work and placing second in that contest.”

“Second?”

“Behind me, obviously.”

So that’s what happened, and a few weeks later the pair came home from school each holding a respective ribbon and a smile for being called the “best pair of princesses St. Flora has ever had.”

Sakoda... just Sakoda... please give me Sakoda...

oh my gosh okay okay, this tumblr was originally going to be for my Sakoda-centered series called MMIM (match made in mankai) which is a sitcom about sakoda, his lesbian sister, her girlfriend, his boyfriend Kengo from the encast, as they all live in a huge mansion together with their wacky neighbor homare and his husband mothman and their dog bubble wrap and it’s just a whole sitcom, all the while they run a dating site but I wanted to write other stuff too 

so like

expect that at some point in your life lol

anyways here’s Sakoda

------

“Are you sure about this Sakoda? It’s a big step up from a scooter.” Omi questioned, watching the boy as he circled his motorbike, a huge shark-like grin on his face as he nodded, holding his helmet in his hands.

“Yep! Gotta upgrade so I can keep up with Aniki! Wanna impress him and all!”

“Alright... and are you sure you don’t want Sakyo here with you for this?” Omi asked, feeling like this scene was similar to the cliche “father teaching his son how to ride a bike” moment, but Sakoda shook his head, his smile refusing to dim.

“Nope! Gonna surprise Aniki by taking him to all his favorite places on the bike! I can be his biker babe!” He cackled, while Omi questioned where he learned his terminology.

“I- alright then. If that's what you want. We already went over the mechanics so go ahead and hop on and we can go over getting it started...” Omi moved over to the bike, preparing himself in case it fell over despite having put the brakes on. He mentally went over how much a new bike would cost, just in case this one was to crash, which he felt was pretty likely.

“Got it!” Sakoda headed over to the motorcycle, sitting on the bike and putting his helmet on over his head, gripping his hands on the handles, excitement flowing through his veins. Just thinking of how his boss would act after seeing him ride around. He wondered if Sakyo would be proud, and how cool it would be if they were to ride to work together on a bike. His day dreams filled his mind, though out of the corner of his eye he could see Omi’s mouth moving, saying something like “... n’t start now...” 

“Got it Fushimi!” Sakoda beamed, kicking the bike into gear and lurching forward, using what he had learned prior to help him move. Omi was yelling something but Sakoda couldn’t hear, he was too happy feeling the wind in his ha-

oh, well that’s a pole. Good thing he knows how to turn, right? Omi taught him that, didn’t he? 

Oh... oh no

let’s just say the day ended with Sakyo buying Omi another bike, and Sakoda wearing a paper sign of his own creation around all day saying;

 “I did something  dumb and I won’t do it again.”

mystic malfunction is on my mind again and i've been thinking about how funny it'd be if mikey hijacked a training session and taught everyone Lou Jitsu style (à la fish and ladders). ik Splinter's already been trying to make it a little more interesting for Mikey, but maybe it's the day after a particularly sour mission and he's like "yknow what? okay let's do it Orange's way today, just for a bit of a change of pace. lighten the mood a bit." the 2012 boys learn a very structured style, which is def useful (like when Mikey was fighting Shredder), but the 2018 boys are way more used to improvising and using their surroundings in non-traditional ways - particularly Mikey. i think it'd be really interesting to see how the 2012 boys would fare trying to fight in that style, and if they'd use it in future! anyway. the image of Mikey chasing them all around with an improvised household appliance weapon is EXTREMELY amusing to me, along with seeing Splinter's reaction when Mikey informs him that this was how they first learned how to properly fight. I think he'd go through all the stages of grief, but it'd definitely help him understand Mikey's lack of interest in regular training. anyway back to rotating your fic around in my mind like a microwave <3

Oh, I love this idea. Here, have an unedited ficlet I wrote in my notes app quick lol.

==========

Mikey vibrated with excitement, Splinter amused beside him while the others cautiously filtered into the dojo.

Splinter had seen how he’d struggled during regular training and after a small talk about why that might be, he’d allowed Mikey to run his own session to see exactly how the teaching styles differed. Both for Splinters own curiosity and to provide a different, more improvised kind of training so the others didn’t fall too much of a routine.

“So, how many different death traps are in here?” Raphael asks. Michelangelo is attempting to hide behind him but Raphael keeps pushing him away. “And where is one of them so Mike can be distracted by something else—“

“No death traps!” Mikey confirms. The others still look around cautiously as they come to stand in front of him. “I’m gonna show you the kind of training I got from Dad back home!”

The turtles share a disbelieving look, glancing towards Splinter who merely nods in confirmation.

“That’s…great,” Leonardo says slowly. “I suppose we could spice things up a bit.”

“You betcha!” Mikey exclaims. The turtles share one last confirming glance with Splinter before falling into their training stances and pulling out their weapons.

Mikey’s grin grows. “Nuh uh, nope,” he says, rolling onto his heels and thoroughly enjoying their confusion. “Won’t need those.”

Splinter turns to him in curiosity while the other look on in slight terror. Regardless, they lower their weapons to the ground in front of them and wait for Mikey to continue.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

—————

“That’s not how you use a toaster!” Donatello screeches, lunging away from the flying toaster Michelangelo threw by the cord like a flail.

“That’s exactly how you use it!” Mikey encourages from the sidelines. His alternate sends him a bright thumbs up before his head is promptly smacked to the ground by the lamp Raphael wields.

“How on Earth are you still alive if this is how your Master Splinter trained you!?” Leonardo exclaims, hurriedly blocking Raphael’s next lamp strike with his couch cushion. “This isn’t what training is supposed to be!”

“Sure it is! You just have to get creative! I don’t see Michelangelo complaining!” His alternate groans from the floor and he immediately backtracks. “Not about the training anyway!”

The chaos quickly resumed with Raphael going on a rampage with his lamp and the others scrambling out of the way with their other improvised weapons.

Mikey beams up a smile to Splinter who pinches his brow with eyes shut tight, taking deep breaths.

“I…understand your frustration with my teaching methods, now,” Splinter grumbles, watching with tired eyes as Raphael gets a whack to the face from Leonardo’s cushion.

Mikey launches to his feet, not being able to help himself anymore. Without any warning he grabs the closets of the many household items he gathered before starting. His hands adjust around the pens he grabbed, fashioning them into claws between his fingers, before jumping into the fray and straight towards a panicked Donatello.

They’re nowhere near prepared for all the razz-ma-tazz he’s about to unleash.

==========

Hehehe ❤️

Unspoken

Rhett would never get tired of this feeling. The feeling of his sweaty body pressed against Link’s. Both of them writhing under the sensations flooding their system. 

Link's ragged breath hot against his chest. His slender fingers curving around Rhett's neck just right as he pushes Rhett deeper into him. Dark hair wet with sweat, plastered across his forehead, highlighting those beautiful blue eyes that would always be home.

This was the only part that was good. After this was over, they would go back to pretending this doesn't happen. Rhett would go back to occasional touches and longing looks at Link across the room.  

That is what Rhett signed up for, after all. ‘Friends with benefits.’ What a lovely idea. 

He wasn't prepared to fall absolutely head over heels in love with his lifelong best friend. He wasn't prepared for the feeling that his heart was being ripped from his chest every time he walked out of the bathroom only to find Link redressed and buried in a textbook, unable to bring himself to look at Rhett.

He was never sure how Link could wipe the evidence away that fast. How he could compose himself that quickly after the undeniable passion they both experienced. 

But, he did. It would always just be sex for him. 

"Fuck, Rhett." Link grunted into Rhett's neck, jagged teeth grazing against sensitive skin. 

Rhett groaned, low and deep, his hands traveling down Link's body to grip his narrow hips, thrusting harder into him desperate to keep the boy beneath him talking.

"Yes, just like that, baby. Oh, god." Link moaned, his hands moving above his head to grip the bed frame, the tiny metal bed squeaking at the movement.

It wasn't unusual for Link to be loud, but the use of Rhett's name seldom happened. When it did - Rhett always hoped he could drag more from the boy. Even though he knew it would never happen, Rhett always dreamed it would be the words that were constantly on the tip of his own tongue - words that he wished he was brave enough to speak them into existence.

"I love you."

The words just tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. Rhett was sure he was only hearing it inside his own head. It wasn't until Link's breath hitched and his blue eyes grew wide that Rhett realized his slip up.

Link opened his mouth but Rhett quickly latched his own over it, effectively shutting him up. Rhett swallowed down each of Link's moans as he fucked into him harder, faster, in an effort to cover up his mistake. The kiss was sloppy and rough, Rhett trying to combat the sickening feeling in his stomach.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the feeling and focusing on Link - how he felt, how he smelled, how he tasted. Committing it all to memory just in case this never happened again - if Link decided he wanted nothing to do with Rhett after this. 

He felt the warmth spill onto his stomach, Link's head thudding against the mattress, gasping Rhett's name. Rhett buried his face in Link's neck, thrusting only a few more times before he emptied himself inside Link. His hips shuttering to a stop as they both caught their breath.

Their breathing slowed, strangely in sync.

"Uh, did..." Link began but Rhett quickly moved, lifting his body off Link, trying not to whine at the loss of contact.

Rhett gathered his shirt from off the floor where it had been tossed when Link came back from the library and sunk to his knees in front of Rhett. His only hope was to claim ignorance - he was just lost in it, he didn't know what he was saying.

"Rhett, did you - you said, 'I love you.'" Link's small voice finally broke the silence.

Rhett winced, “Yeah,” his back still turned to Link, swallowing hard. “Sorry ‘bout that.” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

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

Link still sat on the bed, only moving enough to clean himself off and slip into his boxers.

His heart was in his throat. He couldn't believe Rhett had actually said those words. It's like the taller boy could hear his thoughts at that moment. The words echoed off inside Link's head every time they had sex. 

He was sure Rhett didn't feel the same but since he'd said that... maybe it was finally time to declare his feelings for him. 

Rhett emerged from the bathroom, looking calm and put together like always. Link still sat on the bed in only his boxers, trying to wrap his mind about what he was about to confess.

"Rhett, maybe we should talk." Link said, running a nervous hand through his hair, still a mess from their earlier activities.

Rhett narrowed his eyes, "Is this cause I said ‘I love you’?" 

Link took a calming breath, ready to spill his guts, to lay everything out in front of Rhett and hope he felt the same way.

"I mean, it doesn't mean anything. That was like a middle-of-sex 'I love you' not an 'I love you I love you.'"     

Link's heart sank as he watched Rhett slip into a pair of sweatpants, trying to not be distracted by the miles of sweat stained skin that was on top of him a few moments ago. 

Of course it was a mistake. Rhett could never feel that way about Link. He was just something to fuck, a way to releave stress. Rhett always got off then got out. Why would he suddenly want more? 

But, despite his need to feel close to Rhett in this way, Link was sure he couldn't fake it any more. 

He couldn't take pretending this didn't happen, going back to grazes against his arm and knees touching under the table. He couldn't take biting his tongue when Rhett was inside him, words threatening to spill over like water over flood gates. 

He couldn't take the heartache anymore.

"I think we should maybe call this off - whatever this is." he couldn't bring himself to look at Rhett. 

"Wh - " Rhett shook his head, "It's not that big of a deal, Link." his voice cracking. 

Link let out a humorless chuckle, "Let's just do it now before it gets any harder, okay. Time to stop kidding ourselves." he mumbled, finally standing up and slipping into his jeans that were still crumpled on the floor. 

"Link, no. I didn't mean it, okay? I don't love you." 

Link held back his tears, refusing for Rhett to see how much this was hurting him. It wouldn't do either of them any good to keep this up. It was better this way.

Link slipped his shirt on, needing to get out of the apartment, get away from Rhett. He shrugged his jacket on, running fingers through his hair to look semi-presentable. "I know, Rhett. Still - it's better this way." 

"Where are you going? Please, Link. Don't - don't leave. I promise, I don't love you. I don't!" Rhett yelled at Link as he slipped on his shoes, hand already turning the knob. 

Why does he have to keep saying it? 

"It's okay. We knew it was a risk when we started. Sometimes you can't help but catch feelings." 

"Link, no - " he heard Rhett say as the door shut behind him, walking out into the unusually cold April air, trying to ignore the bite of the cool wind on the tears falling down his face.