donatecho-blog - Tumblr blog

[donatecho-blog]

“I hope my dear brothers bear in mind that I don’t mount games or fix things for people who use my computer as a drink coaster.”

[donatecho-blog]

It wasn’t the smartest thing to do. 

But letting them all walk away seemed so smart at the time, didn’t it? And where had that kind of wisdom gotten any of them?  Did it keep him company all this time or bring him peace with his decision? Did it keep these masks around their eyes, where they belonged?  No. No; it was time to accept he didn’t know a damn thing. That truly, he wasn’t so smart at all. 

This was the end of “smart”. 

So, Don refused to think about it: in an instant, his hand had left the can and shot out to tightly grip Leo’s wrist. He’d never held anything more firmly in his life. Surely, he never would.

“No. No you don’t. You’re not listening,” Don said. His voice had begun to tremble again; steady, but tight like a bowstring drawn by the shoulder.

He could practically feel Leo’s pulse under his skin. 

“You’re not leaving, Leo. Not this time.”  

Coming Home

[donatecho-blog]

📷

📷 - for what my muse would say to the paparazzi about yours.

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you, Ryan – ”

“ – I think a giant talking turtle man playing Twister ‘till 3 in the morning by himself is as juicy as it gets. I mean, I could tell you about his love life – I could tell you about his platonic life – but it’s a sad story either way. 

A sad, sad, sad story.”

[donatecho-blog]

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

Send me a symbol.

📖 for what my muse would write about yours in their diary. 📷 for what my muse would say to the paparazzi about yours. 💋 for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse. 🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours. 💌 for a letter my muse would write to yours. 📫 for a letter my muse would write about yours to a third party. 📨 for a text my muse would send to yours. 💬 for a text my muse would send to yours to a third party. 💀 for what my muse would say upon hearing about your muse’s death. 👪 for what my muse would say to your muse’s child about them. 👊 for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested. 💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding.

[donatecho-blog]

“Oh, good; that narrows it down tremendously.” Figures that no turtle in any universe could possibly have a life any less crazy than his own. He’d call it a curse -- if he believed in those, anyway.

“Okay, better question: what’s the last thing you remember before turning up here?”

Mikey is prepared to interject right there, and he does - butting in every time Don takes a breath with a very chipper “Yup!”

“Yup, yup, yup! All in a day’s work, right?”

“…Though, today waaaaas kinda my day off…”

[donatecho-blog]

“Er -- I’m afraid we have ourselves a bit of a puzzle, there,” Don said, and although he leaned back against his desk, his brow was furrowed. “That was going to be one of my questions for you.”

“Tell you what: we’ll try the process of elimination. Did you happen to meet and/or irritate any all-powerful beings or aliens with influence over the fabric of time and space? Tumble through any holes in reality? Mess around with any inter-dimensional portals?”

“Eh - close enough.”

“I’ve seen tons of you! Though, I mean, I totally thought they were all clones to start with. And that was, like, two years a go or something. Never really thought to ask, honestly.” He eyes Donnie’s desk warily as he steps forward, though he doesn’t vault over it or anything like he might have back home. He didn’t trust this Donnie to not have some kinda laser rifle built into it. “Sooo, next question then, Chief - How’d I end up here?”

[donatecho-blog]

Call it his great escape: Don quickly put a decent berth between himself and this sealed sun-in-a-can in favor of his desk. Cuddly or no, next time, he’d have a solid pencil to put between them. 

He asks good questions, though -- Don actually taps his chin.

“Well, I could spend a good two hours explaining what we have so far on multiverse theory, but something tells me only one of us’ll be invested. So here’s a version for Spark Notes. .  . ”

“Welcome to the multiverse, brave astronaut. Keep this up and I have a feeling I won’t be the only Don you ever meet. I’m guessing I’m the.  . . second?”

Well. That was quick. Kinda boring, too. His Don probably woulda exploded into a huge rant about how he’s the under-appreciated child that never gets the attention he deserved blaaa blaaa blaaa.

…On second thoughts - his happy, smiley Don was probably waaay better. 

“Aha! I win!” His grin is unmatched as he steps back, putting enough space between them so that Don wouldn’t feel squashed. 

“So–” He rubs his beak absent-mindedly, straining his neck to look up at the taller turtle. “–What’s the deal with you guys? How come there’s other us-es?”

[donatecho-blog]

“Easy, easy on the face -- !“ Don tucked his chin, squirming. Wow, this Mikey was extremely zesty, and as far as Mikey went, that was quite the statement -- it was . . . actually kind of funny.

“Okay -- okay, you win!“ he laughed. “Cut it out -- I yield!”

It takes Mikey a few seconds, not quite realising the strength of his affection. He loosens the grip a little, though doesn’t part from Donnie’s side; instead choosing to nuzzle up to him like he would his own Donatello; occasionally raising one hand to poke at his cheeks.

He soooorta wanted to see how far he could go before ol’ egg-head cracked.

“Who needs those stinky old things when ya got me? I can do all yer breathin’ and bubblin’ for you!” He’s not really sure if Don is actually allergic to Mikey-DNA or something, but he kinda gets that impression. He almost looks like a noodle in how he’s trying to strain away. “C’mooon! Admit you like the Mikey-Hug~”

[donatecho-blog]

Mikey had always been a more touchy-feely guy, but holy chalupa, this one squeezed like a grizzly bear; Don had to wheeze to speak properly.

“Hreeuh, uh -- ”he sputtered. “Easy, Theodore!” 

“I'm, ah -- happy as I can be without my personal bubble!” He wheezed again. “And my lungs! I really do miss my lungs.”

“Who else looks this good?” The interjection seems to be lost on him, though. Donnie just keeps speaking… and speaking. Mikey, of course, is bored - deciding to take the opportunity to slip under the slender turtle’s arms and tackle his chest.

Hugs were always good. Though, with his arms now wrapped around the other-brother-from-another-nest, Mikey has realised it’s a little hard to hug a tall string-bean. 

But he’d sure as heck try!

“C’moooon, Donnieeee! You can’t ask me to not be touchy-feely with ya! I’m Mikey!

Tighter - he needed to squeeze tighter. “And pecking-order or not, I betcha yer real happy about that, right?”

[donatecho-blog]

He put his hands on the can -- both of his hands -- and squeezed it so tightly it dented all the way around. He wasn’t thirsty. Or hungry. He was just numb -- numb everywhere he wished he could feel something and hurting beyond belief everywhere he wished he could just shut off.

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Because he understood, now. Because he could learn from his mistakes.

“But I do. I regret it all. You -- you can’t tell me it’s okay. You can’t tell me it was worth it,” Don said, and his own tone surprised him: it was almost robotic. “And  -- “

He looked Leo in the eye, then -- far more sharply and far longer than he could ever remember doing before.

“And you can’t tell me you’re going back up there. Not this time.”

Coming Home

[donatecho-blog]

@wut-the-chuck

I don't know where all you idw turts came from, cropping up overnight like mushrooms, but ilu and i love this scene so please keep it up. <3

[ If I am indeed a mushroom, I want to be the kind that grants people indomitable size and strength when eaten!

Okay, bad reference aside, saw this just recently and gosh, am I flustered! Many thank, dear reader; I’m happy to please (and I know my dingus of a partner over there is, too)! ]

[donatecho-blog]

Ah, he’d softened right up! Don was better at this than he thought. Even if he, you know, didn’t drink it. And lowered his eyes. And sounded downright depressed.

Oh, right; this was the hard part. 

“Of course I know that, “ Don said.  “Or I’d consider you an idiot. You’re no idiot, Mikey.”

“That’s a good reason as any to go off and do a lot of things, really. We’d just like getting lost, shot or stabbed to be excluded from that. Reasonable enough, right?”

It was almost kind of funny; a Donatello-style echo of a Splinter-like gesture. Maybe that was why the pinch in Mike’s brow wilted all on its own. 

He took the can, even managed to give Don something of a smile in the process – but though he reached for the tab, all he found himself doing was plucking at it as he leaned over his lap, his eyes on his feet as dull twanging filled the silence.

“You know I don’t always do stuff just to do it, right?”

“I’m not trying to be a rebel or freak you guys out or anything. I just … sometimes I want to do more than just try not to die. You get that, right?”

[donatecho-blog]

Oh, that dirty cheater. Don scrambled for his own controller far too late; no sooner had he swept it up and desperately mashed the triggers that he heard the deathly knell of his poor character careening off the stage with their only stock. Don had to bite his beak, hissing quietly through his teeth; why, he had half a mind to -- 

To let Leo have this. Dear god, just let him have this one; judging by the stone in his eyes, he needed to boost very, very badly.

“Oh -- oh no, you --”

 “You got me! That -- that was a thing you did, alright! Good job!” You traitor.

Really? Was this the sort of treatment the eldest brother deserved? Really? A couple seconds more of ridicule and Leo was on the verge of testing out Don’s block trigger in real life.

…That means he wanted to hit them. It was just– trying to make it sound– He didn’t get video games, alright?

Fortunately, it seemed seemed fate was on Leonardo’s side before things could come to non-virtual blows; the loading screen was over and the match was counting down to begin– and here was Don milking this condescending dig for all it was worth with foolishly no controller in hand. Leo didn’t hesitate for one second.

Stone faced, he started to mash the truest, most familiar button he knew.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch–

[donatecho-blog]

Oh, gag him, this was mistake; it was getting oh so very hard not to slump in his seat or rub his temples until they caved in on his brain. Just smile and keep talking, Donnie; he’ll get it.

Some time this century.

“Okay. Once again,” he said, and by god, he couldn’t speak any slower if he were a busted cassette as he leaned forward to gesture to Leo’s controller again. “See the big buttons on the top there? Those are triggers. You hold one down to block. See?”

“The stick-thingy is called the left stick; it’s the same one you use to move. If you want to dodge, you hold down a trigger and move the stick toward where you wish to go. Better?”

Did he have to hold the button to block: that was all Leonardo wanted to know. It was all he ever needed to know. His expression was stern but the look in his eyes was distant. It was like having Harold’s portal explained all over again.

The controller was looking more and more foreign to him with every new function, it wasn’t hard to lose track of– Wait, hold on. Did Don just say tap?

“…So I tap it–? and hold if I want to dodge?”

[donatecho-blog]

“Well, it depends: see, back there, holding it down would’ve been safe unless I decided to go for a grab, in which case you’d definitely want to dodge, and when that happens you side-step --honestly, rolls are so predictable -- and then either try and counter during my cool down or get your spacing back. But if you’re feeling lucky, you can tap at just the right moment and perform a -- “

Brakes! Brakes, Donatello; he wasn’t ready. Dear god, was he ever so unready.

“ -- you know what? Yeah. Yeah, just hold it and move the stick if you wanna dodge. Easy.”

“I don’t mash!” Leo snapped, a knee-jerk response after yanking the controller out of Don’s intruding way. The fact they were still on the loading screen didn’t even register, he couldn’t tolerate them tapping his buttons.

“I’m pressing all of the buttons and my guy never does anything different. Your guy gets to shoot fire.”

“…Do I hold this to block or do I just tap it?”

[donatecho-blog]

Don didn’t even realize he’d dropped his hands; Leo’s voice had come to him from so far, far away, and yet somehow, he could still manage to respond to him. The fabrics had grown spotty with water, and he knew he was shaking -- not sobbing, but trembling at the hands, cracking at his tightly clenched teeth.

He couldn’t feel his jaw; some unseen lever in the whirling recesses of his brain forced it to move.

“You -- you should’ve brought them home a long time ago.”

No. No. No, that was wrong. Donatello’s hands balled into fists on his lap, into a vice-like grip around what was left of his brothers. 

“I -- I should’ve -- “ His voice was shattering like a thin glass sheet; he spoke so softly, yet every muscle in his throat felt so unbearably tight. “I should’ve gone and -- and brought you all home. But I let you go. I let you go. I let you go, and -- ”

His words were swelling on the back of his tongue; he was practically choking on them.

“Why couldn’t you just stop?”

Coming Home

[donatecho-blog]

"Oh, no need; I can just tell you!” Don said with a cheerfulness that barely masked his clear pretense of ribbing the poor guy; he promptly leaned into Leo’s space, tapping the various controls as if explaining a clay model of a dinosaur to a five year old.

“I use this button to block. And then sometimes I move this stick-thingy to dodge,” he said. “And when I’m having a merry time blocking and dodging and whatnot, your ‘charge and mash the attack button’ strategy loses a lot of utility. Simple, right?”

“Whatever, it’s just a game.”

The controller swung loosely in Leonardo’s hand, on the verge of tossing the controller aside during every single results screen. Yet he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Y’know what? I don’t– Okay! Come on, one more round.”

“–but I’m watching you this time. You’re cheating, I just don’t know how yet.”