I upload weekly shorts/drabbles when I can and I'll be sure to keep this thread updated.
They are rated mostly K, but some will be rated higher.
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These are older ones from a while ago: Current ones will be posted as new threads.
For the prompt #139- "Help is on the way"
"Don't move... please... don't move!" Words struggled through his breath, whistling and evaporating into the dusty air. "I'm a good guy. Just.. don't move!"
The victim drowned in her own tears, gasping and holding on to the string of her life. "Please don't go.. I don't want you to go. What's your... n-name?"
He swallowed hard at first, but it dissolved in seconds. "Mikey."
"Where do you live, Mikey?" she winced from the blinding pain in her pinned legs. The demolished building around them creaked, sending frightful moans shaking through their bones.
"My own little dungeon," he chuckled but it came out more like a whimper. He didn't mean to do that to the helpless woman. "I help people. Sweet people like you."
"I'm going to die here, Mikey... I can.. can feel it. Don't leave me. P-please.."
Trembling, he reached for her hand, without a hesitation. Any consolation he had for her disappeared as he peered into her waning eyes.
She smeared the dirt and blood on her face against the bed of debris. "You're so.. warm..."
"Help is on the way! Hang in there!" He could hear voices in the far distance, echoing around them. The clogged, dense air made it difficult to see anything beyond their hands, but bits of light fell through the cracks.
She hummed and squeezed his hand. "My kitty.. she didn't want to leave me this m-morning." Her voice slipped and he strained to hear the rest of them. "'Mommy, don't go', she purred. I was in for a promotion today... today. My big day. September 11th.."
His soft, dying friend's grasp was easing; Mikey moved the hair out of her eyes and calmly said, "This is your still your big day."
"Kitty..."
"I'll take care of her.."
Prompt - "orphan". "Usagi Drop" is a delightfully cute anime that I'm currently watching and its ending song "High High High" provokes happy/fluffy feelings. All I can see is Mikey all the way through it. I needed another Shadow appearance, too.
"Roo, are you hot?" the young, sunbaked face squinted, cuddling his hand tight. "You get a heat stroke and die. I don't want you to die."
Mikey, aka 'Roo', chuckled behind his thin scarf at his little friend. Winter was gracefully ending, and the birds whistled for the new season. "I am a little warm, but you know I can't walk around as I am, Shadow."
"Not fair," she pouted, her dark hair bouncing with her disapproval, "You'll die and I won't have anybody to walk with me or sing to me or let me eat ice cream before bedtime or—"
"Hey!" he playfully hissed, squishing her pink hat under his bulky hand, "you're not supposed to say that last one out loud!"
Shadow huffed under his hand and stomped her foot, "I'll be an orphan again!"
"You have your Mommy-April and Daddy. Don't be so sad."
"They're not the same as you.." the once-happy face turned dreadful, "And if they die, too?"
He silently bent down in front of her and signaled for the young Shadow to hop on his shell. Once she latched on and then wiped her nose with his scarf, toasty Roo bounced her and calmed the little worrywart. "Look up to the sky. Our voices can reach anywhere, as high as you want it." He pointed to the intense birds, fluttering around several blooming trees. "They live for the moment, and so should we."
For the rest of their journey, she didn't take her eyes off the Blue, and it gave Roo the opportunity to enjoy his moment.
Prompt 141- "Back to school". Donatello is described as a genius a lot, so I would think he would get bored in class quite often if he is not challenged.
The clock hands stormed his sensitive brain and his eyes wafted in warm tears. The world inside his own little messy bedroom was getting sicker and sicker. Thankfully, it all happened as they returned from a short, and secretive, summer break. Tomorrow was back to school, back to the basics, and back to a long tight schedule.
The fifteen-year-old turtle boy sighed, leaned back in his chair, and blinked through feverish educational memories, all colored by the sound of his Master's authoritative voice.
"Donatello! Open your eyes during literature!"
Literature just plain sucks, he mumbled to himself.
"What was so important that you had to miss a lesson about the internet? I thought you liked computers."
Already know too much. Way too much.
"Help Raphael with his geography since you finished your test early."
Well, that'll teach me for next time, won't it?
"Father, I want my own room. I can't study with Mikey and Raph playing Kick the Can. More like 'How Many Times Does the Can Land on the Geek's Face'?"
Of course, there were a few conditions about gaining access to one's own room, and one of the most important was to show up for class on time, be active, and avoid snappy remarks to the less than stellar students. Don promised himself and Master that he would do better this time around, and he had already been a lackluster pupil. He couldn't miss tomorrow's session, even if Mother Nature unleashed her awesome fury on New York City.
So he guzzled down Nyquil and dreamed of chicken fries dancing in raincoats and telling the weather forecast for the next week on planet Saturn that had traded places with Earth on a bet that the Cardinals would win the finals.
The next morning, Donatello did nothing but get straight out of bed and fall into his bowl of soggy cereal at the table. He heard a bunch of rambling from his family, and Master demanded that no medicines were to be administered in the household without adult supervision after finding a half empty bottle of Nyquil on the counter.
Prompt 142 - "Day to Day" :: inspired by my own goofy dreams.
"Sooooooooooooooooooo.. Donny picked me up to go to school, but I told him that I wanted to skip some afternoon classes and I told him to turn around and go back to April's so I can pick up my car. I don't know why I didn't take my car in the first place, but whatever! And then we stopped at a Mexican restaurant with a lunch crowd and some aliens that looked like a cross between a pig and an elephant kidnapped Donny! THE HORROR! And they wanted to hold Donny for ransom so they could get on Jeopardy and kiss Alex Trebek."
The room dripped in silence and hung on to Mikey's last word like their life depended on it. Splinter pleasantly sighed.
"What the hell does he smoke before he goes to bed?" Raph snapped, slapping some mayo on a beast of a sandwich that could turn around and devour him instead.
Donny typed away on his computer and idly commented, "Why would they want to kiss Trebek? Isn't he like 100 years old now?"
Mikey inhaled a glass of milk and leaned on Leo's head, eager to finish his dream, "And then I was walking down this weird government building and the Nazis started moonwalking across the..."
Another glorious day at the Hamato residence.
Prompt 143 "Hammer Time" - of course that automatically makes me think of Vanilla Ice. I did find Vanilla Ice fanfiction on here. Dead serious. It's not pretty, either.
OH, WARNING: Lots of adult and street language in this one !
"Get this, Raph!" a battle-torn hockey mask swiveled on the wobbly kitchen table, sending an empty beer bottle to its carpeted grave. "Tommy's down the street with a bunch of hoodrats trying to rap! They all sound like mating day at the zoo or somethin'!"
Raphael finished a box of Lucky Charms and smashed it on the counter. "That little crackhead I busted last week? Tried to steal my bike with me on it?" Tiny bits of marshmallows fell on the floor, and he kicked them under the cabinets. "He should still be in the hospital sucking through a straw from both ends!"
"Naw, man, that little douche-y wanna-be-street kid that pushes buggies at Walmart! Calling himself 'Blade BAWS', like saying the 'boss' but with a-"
"Yeah, I know, Case!" The fridge door slammed so hard, it rattled its own contents and a couple of magnets fell off the door. "That little worm hit April's van with those damn buggies and then argued with her. I would have taken care of him but I had the flu."
"That sucked!" Casey flopped on the couch and yanked a red lingerie underneath him, quickly stuffing it behind a cushion before Raphael joined him. "The first time I've ever seen you another color!"
"What the hell is that noise outside?" Raph ripped his lips from the milk jug and whisked it on the coffee table.
"YO, JONES!" The sound of ghetto fluttered in the wind. "Whut up, homes!"
Casey groaned and screamed out the window from his seat. "Tommy, is that you?"
"It's me, it's me! Tommy Tsunami. Da Blade BAAWWWWSS!" a lily skinned, slim man hunkered in the window and presented his magnificent ego to an audience. Dressed in shiny urban wear big enough for a grizzly and a cap turned backwards with the words 'I GOT DIS', Tommy Tsunami flashed his golden grills and cocked his head. He couldn't stay still for a moment.
"You done rappin' with the Hood? They laughed you right off the street, didn't they?" Casey grabbed his absent green friend's milk jug and swallowed. He stopped momentarily and wondered if the milk was going bad, but he drank it anyways.
"They don't appreciate my talents. I put all da white rappers to SHAME, bro!" Tommy's silver chains jingled as he slammed his hand on the sill. "Eminem, Vanilla Ice, Bubba Sparxx... they ain't got NOTHIN' on me!"
"They don't have much to begin with!" came a muffled holler from the closet or from somewhere in the apartment.
"You got a fucking ghost in there, Jones? Who said dat? Yo! I don't take no sheet from no damn ghost! Motherfucking Poltergeist yo' b**** shell!" Complete with foreign gangster signs.
"What are you doing at my window?" Casey choked on his milk and sloshed around its contents in the jug at Tommy. "The East Coast Bloods see that, and you'll be rapping to the fishes!"
Tommy Blade Boss ignored Casey and erupted into his dance routine in the yard, rapping half words and humming the rest. Casey picked his nose and wondered if anybody would call the law.
"Hey, Blade Runner!" Raph appeared at the window and made Casey jump fifty feet in the air. "You look like a rocking chair with arms!"
Tommy's passion for breakdancing and one-upping green men soared in the small patch of dead grass. His salty lyrics of alien men slowly taking over Earth bounced off his whipping legs and large flapping clothes in the wind. Raph chuckled from the window, and Casey held his head in one hand, shameful of the weirdo kid outside his residence.
"You ain't gonna take our women, ET!" Tommy's hard breaths pulsed as he tried keeping his pants up, shaking one finger at Raph. "Green Motherfucka, I gotta blade under my tongue. That's why they call me Blade BAWS. That's BAWS, like the boss of yo' mother!"
Raphael poked his head out the window. "You dropped a chain, Baws."
"I ain't gotta take your abuse. I know the moon landing was fake and you and yo' kinds gonna pregnante all of us. No anal probe in me!" Tommy walked backwards, holding his pants tight, and dangling the rogue chain. "YEAH!"
When Tommy turned away, he bumped into menacing reptilian eyes. Raphael snorted like a bull and grinned evilly.
"You smell like *insert swear here*, homes! Daaaaaaamn!" Tommy held his nose. "My gramma smells betta than you!"
Raphael grabbed the kid by his head and holstered his flailing and screaming body over his bulky green shoulders. Casey had no clue where Raph took his victim, but he was thankful for the silence and slammed his window and curtain shut. The Boston Bruins were tackling the Coyotes at seven, and he hoped Raph remembered to pick up snacks on the way back.
Prompt 144- "Fourth wall". Eh, this is the best I could come up with and not have it go for epic length. I dig it.
Do you ever wonder what sacrifices April makes for the sake of her friendship with the Green?
PG, implied romance/sexy times (NOT with a turtle, though!)
Sexy. Dynamite! And loving every moment of it!
Hi, you lonely scavengers who read and write about terrapin mutants and their promiscuous adventures. There's nothing promiscuous about them. The mere thought appalls me. They stay home, fight over marshmallows and tv, and occasionally battle evil organizations and plumbing problems.
Now, if you want to talk about sexy times, look at me: late 20s, plump figure, nice bounce to her step, hair that could strangle a werewolf, and legs that could go for miles. I'm talking about my date night, and how it doesn't involve marshmallow-deprived mutants. April "I need a break" O'Neil is ready to tour the wave of relations and get a little steam in her life. Totally dried up here, folks!
If I could just make it out the door before my cell phone vibrates or the window opens by green hands, I'll be home free! My high heels can't race across the apartment fast enough! The skin-tight black dress might be a bit much, but I'm not planning on having it on for long. I'm so excited to see the real world now, and enjoy life as a dashing young woman and -
"April," a pitiful voice drones behind me. Coming from the window. Yay...
Sigh. It's hard to ignore a gloomy face turtleboy wondering why his cat has disappeared and why none of his brothers seem to care.
Romance can wait.
prompt 145- falling leaves. Characters: Donatello, Michelangelo, a rather slimy human OC
Rating: PG (violence but not graphically detailed, small talk over a man's groin area)
Summary: Donatello does some stealthy sleuth work.
The one-shot is what it is so don't look deeply into it too much, hehe. I don't need anymore LOOONG stories! :p
On Sundays, he visits his grandma in the nursing home and calls her pretty and trims her toe nails. As soon as her back turns, his greasy little fingers rummages through her purse and retrieves whatever amount of money he can find. Forty-something cents and a year old peppermint candy was last week's discovery.
Thursdays is television and game night with his lackeys where they drown in beer and role playing mayhem. He has a liking for dwarfen thieves and fighting zombies in waist-high sewer water. He also ignores his pregnant girlfriend's numerous calls, and when he does answer, he lies about where he is, curses at her, and hangs up during her sobs. He never does see her. The guy is a real prince.
He goes to church on Wednesday nights and only Wednesday nights. How poetic. Goes for the potluck supper and Singles mingling. The only thing single about him is his brain cell count.
Fridays and Saturdays are all about the streets and what ghetto treasures he can find. Sometimes his warehouse job forces him to work overtime. He hustles during his breaks and calls all of his ladies except for the pregnant one. Last week, she confronted him at work and he called security. I wonder if I could team up with this chick and we send him screaming to the pits of hell. I bet she would do it.
He's boring on Monday nights. Does nothing but sit in his tiny apartment of filth and shame and constantly scratches and pokes at his scrotum. I see a visit to the health department in his future.
Mikey tipped me off about Tuesday nights. I could easily torture this guy in his home on Mondays or make a fool of him in front of his friends on Thursdays, but that's too easy. Tuesdays, Mr. Macho goes to the pool hall, smokes a cheap cigar, and flashes his pecs and tattoos. I remember his falling leaves tattoo crystal clear. It's something I can't get out of my head for the past month, and until I knock a little vengeance in his grimy teeth, the leaves descend, never-ending. Recapitulating like clockwork.
It's time for a little pool hall visit with my finest trenchcoat. I actually had to blow the dust off it.
"Got a hump on your back there, buddy?" he says to me, puffing cigar smoke into the putrid lobby air. "Guess you need a little pool time 'cuz you won't be getting lucky tonight except with a blind b****." His frozen hazel eyes reflect the smoke curling around him, and that spindling grin puts a nice cherry on top for this twisted, soggy cake.
I humor him and play a few rounds. He wins because I'm terrible at pool and don't really care about it. I never rip my sight from him, and as soon as he thinks he's the champion of the universe, I strike as hard as a hurricane: cigar holes in several places on his skin, a pool stick to the groin, meaty punches, screams, and arm twists, and finally, one good skull crack across his victory table. The place is shriveled at its very seams. It's gratifying and funny at the same time when the police and paramedics arrive, and the Hunchback of New York slithers underground.
When I rush back in the sewers, Mikey charges towards me, yelling, "I was totally coming to help but I couldn't get Raph off my butt but I got PICTURES!" He rattles on, shaking the polaroid camera, and wants to hear the story about five times and screeches with laughter all the way home. I have no way of ditching him at this point, really.
"Is the Chief in his room?" I whisper, entering our home quietly and peering around every corner. Mikey tiptoes around like a goofy cartoon character and makes the final rounds.
"Yeah! Let's go!" his hand signals, and we carefully creep to Leonardo's room.
Mikey adds the pictures to a nice, stout collection on Leonardo's wall. His room has transformed into a family shrine. It's rather pathetic but humble.
"He'll be so proud of you when he sees this!" Mikey squeezes between a makeshift table and the wall full of old photos. "Donatello the Brainaic Badass, defending his family and scorning guys with bad tattoos. You're a real detective, slick!"
I chuckle and rub my sore knuckles. They only tingle a little. "He needs to get his butt back soon and stop making us worry."
"And keep the Chief out of our shells!"
We meditate over the mini shrine and wish our absent brother the safest, quickest personal journey.
prompt 149- "How's that working out for you?"
"You've lost interest in things that once made you happy."
All I can think about while my therapist talks is if I left my computer on back at the house. Did I leave my work keys in my desk? How will I pay rent this month with hours being cut at work?
"In our last session, you talked about having control. Did you want to make a list of things you can control and things you can't control, Miss O'Neil?"
I know I can't control men and their feelings, their opinions, and dreams. I can barely control my budget.
"Do you still have your house guests?"
They finally moved out and I have a meager amount of food now, instead of none. Today, I ate some graham crackers and an apple. That was about six hours ago. Before that, I had a biscuit and I can't remember eating anything over the last few days.
"Did you want to say something, April?"
The world shakes too much, Doc. I'm thirty years old and I feel like I have to start all over again. I don't know what being normal is and if I ever get back to it. I love those boys, but I think it would hurt their hearts if I told them I couldn't take the stress anymore. That's why I'm here, Doc. I've broken myself trying to fix them.
