#*shakes you lovingly*

[thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos]

Take a Ghosts(the TV show) AU Donnie

HHNNGGHH-

[thelaundrybitch]

*cackles madly as I drag this into your inbox*

Thank you for your patience. You shall thus be rewarded with some smaller chunks so you don't choke. Wouldn't want to lose you after becoming friends now would we? You've still yet to find me. 😏😎😈

So without further ado, thanks to you and all other interested parties, I present to you part 2! 🫡😘

Relapse

(Addiction Pt. 2 with pt. 3 coming soon!)

Relapse (N) a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement, to turn for the worse

…

They say that the first step to overcoming a problem is to actually acknowledge that there is a problem to begin with. Which is all fine and dandy and totally makes sense. Except for one teeny tiny itty bitty little factor...

Acknowledging problems wasn't exactly Leo's forte. He had a nasty little habit of being in the business of actually creating problems.

Especially when it came to himself.

And this...thing...he had concerning with you was no different.

The fact Leo had "willingly" through the skin of his teeth and only after countless of sleepless weeks, admitted that he maaaaaay have had a slight addiction to you was actually a big step forward!

Personal growth even! He really ought to get a reward or something for being so self aware, cause like come on! This was some major serious self improvement!

So when you had told Leo and his brothers about your up coming girls trip out of country, Leo was totally not worried in the slightest.

He was proud of you for getting out instead of being holed up with your books of all things. It would be good for you to have some alone time with your girl friends.

Because as much as Leo just loved having a monopoly of your time with him and his brothers, Pizza Supreme in the sky, even he knew that spending constant time with them all could be a biiiiiiiit much.

They were just like THE coolest mutants in town and whatever. Obviously the close proximity to such heroes could be a bit emotionally draining to such a poor damsel as yourself (he wants to be your hero so bad it's not even funny)

So it made sense why you'd need a break.

If anything, it would be a good time to try and figure out his head (his heart) and his plan moving forward concerning you. A small period of abstinence, if you will, just to test himself. Get himself in the clear and whatever.

Besiiiiiides it was just a couple of days with your friends right? As his dear nerd of a brother would say, "Exasperated SCOFF!"

No biggie at all.

Because like sure, Leo was addicted to you, but he wasn't like...you know obsessed with you or anything.

He could handle a couple days without you, no problem.

…

However, once again in concordance to the luck of Leo's life (and that meaning none at all) you had just laughed and fondly reminded Leo that due to the additional traveling time, you would actually be away longer than a couple days, almost closer to a month.

And not to mention, while you'd be away for an aDdiTiOnAL COUPLE oF wEeks, you'd also be traveling through so many time zones and weren't exactly sure when and if you'd have Wi-Fi, so you wouldn't exactly be able to text them all as frequently as was custom.

Leo had just blinked at that for a moment, his brow ever so slightly furrowing as he mentally processed what exactly that meant...

Basically an entire month of little to no contact. With you. Period.

This...this was fine. Just... A small set back. Leo... Leo could handle this. The Faceman would have no trouble saving face.

In fact, the only outward sign of his slowly growing inner turmoil was the slight twitch in one of his eyes and the fractional tightening of his hands resting on the bulge of his tensing biceps.

So Leo did what Leo does best: he had just forced a small laugh and shook his head, smirking at you with a playful nudge of his elbow, warning you not to have too much fun without him.

It was just a couple extra days. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about at all...

Right?

…

One and a half weeks later down and with one and half more still to go, Leo lay awake on his plastron with his face buried in a pillow, restlessly clawing at his sheets and cursing the name of friendship.

He should have never let you get on that damn plane, travel the with your damn girlfriends, having what he could only imagine was the damn time of your life.

If you really wanted to travel, FINE! You could travel. Take one of his stupid portals for all he cares. You could go where ever the shell you wanted to go and be back in a literal flash with enough time to spare to still go to dinner.

It would be better than knowing you were spending ridiculous amounts of time with people he didn't know about (and at this current moment could care less to meet since they took you away from him) and having fun with them when you could be back here, where you belonged, with him.

The handful of pictures that came through every couple of days with your bright smile and your now sun kissed, rosy cheeks was down right torturous.

You looked so happy, so carefree. Like an entire weight was lifted from your shoulders.

And Leo hated it.

He wanted to be the one to that kind of smile on your face (you didn't like them better did you? Had more fun than with him?).

Though he couldn't quite be sure what exactly he was feeling at the moment. Pettiness maybe. Loathing perhaps? Jealousy, most likely, if Leo were to be honest with himself. You know, for once.

Whatever the stupid feeling was, Leo knew that the spark was so hot and intense that the very thought of someone else taking your time and making you smile caused his shoulders to lock and his hands to subconsciously dig further into the blanket with a small groan.

This really was one of the worst ideas you had ever come up with, and Leo (the poor baby) had to live (suffer) with the consequences of you being gone.

He buried his beak further into the pillow with an angry huff, his arms wrapping around the padded squish and not for the first time, wondered if this is what it would feel like to hug you around your waist.

Would you let him press his face into the soft and plump skin of your stomach? Leo was sure it would make one helluva fine pillow. Much better than the limp piece of frabric he was currently strangling to death. Probably smell better too.

Would you cradle him against you? Hold him in your arms as he got comfortable? Gently scritch your nails down the back of his head and run your hands over his shell?

Would you let him get close to you like that? Both literally and metaphorically? Would being close to you like that finally give home the closure needed to let him drops his walls once and for all? Give him the rest that he so desperately yearns for?

Leo thought he was fine. He thought he could do this without you! This time apart was supposed to help him go cold turkey! Break this stupid, stupid, stupid addictive need to be with you.

But here he was restless, agitated, hurting and unable to sleep (for weeks thank you very much) so cursed was his ache without you.

He'd never needed anybody, never craved for anybody's presence the way he did with you.

Leo sighed again, grumbling into pillow with a small agitated whine. Why oh why did you have to go?

And take all of his peace with you?!

Being addicted to a person, Leo finally decided, finally admitted, was just...the absolute worst.

But these relapses?

Leo let out a small whimper and pulled the pillow over his head as he all but retreated into his sell.

He really didn't know how he was going to make it through another day without you.

…

All my love and happy suffering,

~AnOnYmOuS

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

my GOLLY

MAN do I love me a tortured, pining, jealous Leo.

It's like you know me or something *squints*

THANK YOU FOR THIS TASTY MEAL ANON! I love it so much 😍🫶🏽

I'm very excited for the next part 👀👀👀

[kikker-oma]

Me again! :D

Sky and Wars - who will totally not get hurt. As requested :D

(Hopefully, I got all the edits filtered through.)

"It's just us now chosen."

Warrior's smiled. Circling his sword in his hand. They'd been in his Hyrule for a while now and had decided that they would spar in groups, as a training exercise for the new army recruits.

The rest of the group had gone already, with various techniques being used to show the troops just how many different styles of fighting existed across the eras.

Sky nodded, Twisting the blade that Twilight had lent him in his hand.

"you guys better make it quick, there's a storm rolling in." Someone behind them said, turning Warriors eyes met with Impa's. He turned back, spotting the dark clouds on the horizon.

"We won't be long, will we Sky?"

Sky shook his head.

Odd.

"Ready position."

Sky settled wordlessly, his eyes looking to warriors.

Then they looked to the side rapidly as the sound of thunder echoed through the air. It was far, but was approaching. He seemed to tense at the sound.

"So, When facing an opponent one-on-one you need to be mindful of how they attack. I know how Sky fights. But say I didn't." He too settled into a ready stance. Sword facing forward towards the chosen hero. "How would I proceed?"

"With great care." A voice from the crowd shouted.

"Correct. Sky, can you go through the movements for Naydra's waters please." He looked to the chosen as he spoke, his eyes seemed focused for now. But flicked to the side again as the storm approached.

Right. Sky was afraid of storms.

The chosen nodded, Flicking his wrist outward before beginning to slowly approach.

He'd get him in a blade lock then. Then could give him an out to get him inside.

Sky lunged at him, Sword directed at his arm. Warriors blocked the attack with ease as the slow movements of a slower version of the form began to work through the chosen movements. He flowed like the tide as he worked around him. Warriors blocking and jumping around the blade.

But something was off.

Sky, Sky's fighting was different somehow. Movements became firmer as the spar continued. Every time he caught the chosen eyes he could see the flicker. He could see the flinch every time a clap of thunder echoed through the sky.

Keep the others distracted. Get closer.

"Take your time with a single opponent, Learn how they move. Learn how they fight. Learn the quirks that may make them dangerous." His captain's voice, as they all called it, was firm and strict as he took Sky into a blade lock. Pulling Sky towards him.

"Are you alright?" Concern filtered through as he whispered the question so only the chosen could hear.

Sky didn't answer. But his breathing was faster than it should be. His eyes are wider than they should be. Pupils are more dilated than they should be.

Panic attack.

Was he going into a Panic attack?

He needed to get the chosen out of here.

"Each opponent will have different weaknesses. Each opponent will have..."

A strike of lightning cut him off.

The chosen's body became rigid, as fear filled his eyes. Eyes flickered from side to side as he shook his head.

Fear makes every man dangerous.

Sky's own words echoed through his head.

But the fear of a Godslayer was a recipe for disaster.

Not good.

Sky lunged again, fear burning through his eyes.

"Sky?"

This time, It wasn't the waters that flowed, the fire raged as strikes hit hard and fast. Warriors skilfully blocking each attack as they hit home. Every time the chosen was close enough he made an attempt to reach him.

He couldn't yell for him. Battle fear was dangerous. It could scare the new recruits. Lower morale.

But Sky... Sky needed help.

"Sky, It's alright, The storm isn't close enough to hurt us." He said as he pushed against the flames that threatened to burn away at him.

He felt his eyes drift to Impa as she begain to usher the others away. He didn't need a distraction. He needed time to break fears hold on the chosen.

He blocked and blocked and blocked. Not allowing the chosen to get a hit off on him. He didn't want to find out what would happen if the chosen tried to hit him while he was down.

He found himself moving backwards. Sky's eyes were glassy as he wordlessly attacked. Every clap of thunder made him flinch.

that was it

An opening would occur with the storm's call.

As their spar continued, the thunderclaps became louder. Until...

Crash!

Sky froze for a moment, allowing him to back off and then press the attack himself. Sky broke his frozen state as he tried to attack back. Completely wordless.

He twisted and turned before finally a strike hit home.

Sky flew to the ground, blood dripping from his cheek. As his eyes came back into focus. His hand raised to his cheek as he pulled it away, seemingly shocked at the blood on it. "Wars? Wars what... What happened?" He looked around confused.

"Oh thank Hylia." Warriors threw his sword down and knelt beside Sky. Wrapping him in a hug, blood on his tunic be damned.

"I dont... Im so confused." Sky pulled back, looking up at the captain, with a pained expression mixed with confusion.

"Thats alright. I'll explain later, let's get you inside." He responded, offering down his hand.

Sky nodded, taking the hand offered to him, standing, he followed the captain inside. One hand pressed firmly against his cheek. Swords abandoned to the storm.

Hope you enjoyed it! And happy birthday again beloved! /pl

MAJOR!!!! you big brained lovely soul, this was sooo gooood😭😭❤️❤️❤️ I READ THIS LIKE, 3 times before reblogging hehehe

I ADORE sparring scenarios!! And something about the Warriors and Sky dynamic makes me so haooy☺️☺️ I love how concerned Wars is. He's trying to get sky out of his blind panic while maintaining moral and sparing sky's dignity, tho getting hit in the face may have done the opposite lol🤣 it was necessary, wars didn't wanna be on the other end of sky's blade while he's panicking!!

Ugh, they're brothers your honor😮‍💨😌😌

THANK YOU LOVELY FRIEND

[cheeseycapy]

Everyone check this out and give the artist lots of love!! BECAUSE THIS IS AWESOMEEEEE!! 🤩🥰

How sweet! Like AHHHH!! They’re so wholesome and ahhh, such soulmate vibes I absolutely love it! And the song from HTTYD is such a good fit for them! MY HEARTTTT!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Something I did some time ago.....i hope you like that.....

Don't mind me not being good at making animatics

[vaguely-concerned]

there's something so incredibly sweet about how many times davrin notes in his journal that talking to rook helped him with something. he keeps bringing them out to touch grass and gaze at nugs out in the woods with him which I think must be very good for them, and their company clearly helps him work through and get more clarity on things he's been stuck on emotionally. it's just kind of lovely and a great little nuance in that relationship.

[thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos]

I gotchu

(saved it in my drafts)

The pterodactyl screech that just came outta my mouth

GORNACK

IM V I B R A T I N G

you wonderful fiend, you

[thelaundrybitch]

-I heard someone fall over. Are you okay? Would you like some water or ice?-

-Oooor, I might have a wip of an old Bayverse story that I can modify. Blurple. No TCest. Would that help?-

*reads this and immediately chokes on my popcorn*

BLURPLE?? 👀

Ye-yes???

[thelaundrybitch]

@redsrooftopprincess @leoandraphssoulmate @the-cauldron-witch @ninnosaurus @avery73 @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @milykins @thepinkpanther83 @ferox-imagines @justalotoffanfiction @raphsmuneca @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @raphslovemuffin80 @wynndigogh @gornackeaterofworlds

Don't mind me. Just depositing my pile of Raph lovers 😂🫶🏽💖

The Kitchen Window (pt. 1)

(Bayverse! Raphael x F! Reader)

desc- (your peace in a quiet, less than fancy apartment is being disturbed by noises in the late night hours of New York. it's none of your business- until it is.)

warnings - some mild violence

word count - 3.1k

Since you moved into that inexpensive apartment complex in lower Manhattan, you’ve remembered the alley outside of your little kitchen window being shady. Littered with garbage, cold, and dark enough during the day to shade any odd or illegal happenings. And the manhole, set dead centered, right beneath the fire escape. Late every night, like clockwork, you can hear it clatter open, all the way from your bedroom. Loud. Obnoxious. And, up until recently, absolutely none of your business to handle.

You’ve witnessed more than your fair share of crimes in that alleyway, and frankly (not that anyone could blame you), you’d wanted nothing to do with whoever or whatever was responsible for making all that noise. Whoever it was, messing with the manhole cover and clambering up the fire escape ladder, seemed completely uninterested (or unimpressed) with your quaint little home. No break-ins, no uninvited visitors, or robberies. The only thing they disturbed, were your sleeping hours. You had to wake up early for your job, and the scrape of heavy steel against concrete echoing up brick walls at the ripe hour of one in the morning was enough piss you off royally.

But alas, with the fear of interfering with some criminal activities and getting your uninvolved ass kicked, was enough to keep you in your bed and away from the windows, when your tired eyes blink open. So you keep to yourself.

Until you couldn’t.

A Friday is what keeps you up late one night. No work to be expected at 6 on a Saturday, a box of takeout from a locally owned Chinese restaurant, and the newest season of your favorite show playing on the tv in your room to keep you comfortable. You settle in your bed, a comforter pulled up to your waist, and a flimsy box of the best white rice and orange chicken you’ve ever tasted. You snicker at the thought of eating in your bed without anyone telling you it wasn’t allowed. Your mother would kill you. But you indulge anyway. This is what adult freedom is all about, isn’t it?

The show starts, and you shuffle your butt further into the mattress and take the first bite of the Chinese that warms your insides. So good.

The tv hums and you watch intently, taking small uninterested bites as the character reveals an insanely unexpected plot twist, when your phone buzzes somewhere off to your left and it pulls your attention from the tv. As you reach for it, the box of food tumbles and spills out onto the blanket. Fucking great. Just your luck. A dramatic and childish groan spills from you, annoyance apparent. What idiot forgets napkins when they’re eating in their bed? You could just hear your mom’s chastising now. Phone forgotten, you carefully slide from the bed and rush out to the kitchen to grab paper towels to clean up your mess.

The moment your foot hit that first cool, floor tile is when everything became your business.

The kitchen is dark, besides the warm, overhead light above the stove. It’s enough to light up the counters and paper towel rack on the wall, where you reach to pull a few from the roll. You glance at the stove clock.

1:03

The scraping of metal outside the adjacent window to your left pulls your attention away. You don’t know why your heart is racing. It’s always the same noise, at the same time, every night. But you're close now, close enough to let whoever is out there catch a glimpse of you in your window and draw unwanted attention to yourself. So why are you tiptoeing your way over to it, and leaning over the sink to peak outside in the dark?

It’s hard to see 2 floors down, but the room is just dark enough to let your eyes adjust and focus on the manhole, already covered again. There are whispers coming from below the fire escape, deep, masculine. And multiple voices that are fighting to stay quiet, but still harshly exchanging words. A quiet laugh. The words are hard to make out with them being just barely loud enough and overlapping.

“Come on. Quit goofing around.”

The steel balcony begins to tremble. They were climbing. The shadow of the top of one of the strangers' heads barely appears before you duck down quickly to the tile in fear of being seen.

“Hurry up Lee!”

“I’m trying, the metal’s slick!”

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, almost drowning out their hushed voices and clanking of metal as they scale the ladder. Their shadows in front of the moonlight, huge and quick, are scattered across the floor. You wanted to just keep to yourself, to mind your own business, and avoid any and all unnecessary stress in your simple life, but that didn’t override the urge to turn and try to see what was going on just beyond the window.

Still crouched on the floor, eyes peeking above the counter, you see the silhouette of a foot leave a step and disappear above your window as they continue to scale the metal scaffolding. Their voices continued to quietly trail and climb up the side of the complex until they all but vanished from your earshot. It seemed the strangers were gone, and you were back to whatever comfort you offered yourself. Of course you were wrong. Just a few seconds longer, you could have waited, to bring yourself slowly from the floor, knees popping (curse your family’s poor joints) and a hand on the countertop to keep your balance. You lean forward once again, trying to peek upwards for any sign of the culprits.

A deep grunt and heavy thud on the balcony right in front of your face jolts your eyes directly forward to meet deep green eyes just beyond the glass. Your heart drops to your stomach at the suddenness of it all, a scaly, scarred beak-looking mouth opens in shock.

What. The fuck.

You want to shout, but nothing except a pearl-clutching gasp comes out when you stumble backwards and your ass makes contact with the hard flooring. You just wanted some napkins.

And now there’s a towering, impossible looking thing outside your window. A giant, dark, mountain of pure muscle, is staring back at you, looking twice as horrified as you feel. When you blink, whoever it is is gone, already clambering up the fire escape.

You scramble up onto your feet once again and reach to yank the window upwards all the way and stick your head out. They’re gone, all of them. Above you, there’s shouts echoing on the rooftop. You can’t bring yourself to come out. It’s not supposed to be your business. So then, why is it that when you look down and see some sort of steel, three pronged weapon on the balcony, glinting in the moonlight, that you decide to climb out and bring it through your window.

Now it's your business, as you hold it in your shaking hand in the quiet of your little kitchenette and wonder what the hell just happened.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next week is quiet. You haven’t heard that all too familiar echo in the alley as you sleep. Not that you’d really been sleeping anyway. Or going to your locked kitchen window. You just sit in your bed, scrolling on your phone through countless news articles of strange noises in the midnight hours of New York. And the weapon rests on your bedside table for you to stare at as you recall the near traumatic experience a few night’s prior. A token of your bravery. Or whatever you want to call it. You’ve run your fingers over its sleek metal prongs many-a-time. A sai, you figured out, after an easy google search. They typically come in pairs, which meant that it was probably the twin to an identical one the stranger had. You’ve concluded it was an accident in their scurrying away out of terror. Ironic. Typically a strange, massive alienistic creature thing wouldn’t scurry from a defenseless person. They probably didn’t want to be seen. Also ironic, since that was also your goal. And here you sit on your couch remembering those strikingly human eyes. The more you sink in thought, the more curious you become, the more questions you ask yourself. And the more you want to see it again.

Your mother would advise against it of course, ever the worrier. And her voice is nagging in the back of your head telling you to just keep to yourself.

“New York is not as safe as it is here,” she warned you, “It’s best to just be careful. Keep your nose out of things you’re not involved in. You’ll be better off that way.”

Now you can’t.

You wonder if the other strangers looked like the one you’d seen up close. Were they as huge and mysterious as it? Did they have their own weapons? Were their eyes as strong in color and captivity? That was the kicker. Because as mortified as you had been, they seemed to just take hold of your every waking moment and painted onto the back of your eyelids every time you blinked.

You wanted to see them again, out of what you could only describe as morbid curiosity.

What else seemed to be so shocking was the fact that as large, and almost dangerous, as they looked, they wanted nothing to do with you. Or anybody for that matter. They were sneaky. And they’d been using your alley, since you moved in, and likely long before then, to get access to your rooftop and go along their merry way. You had nobody to talk to about this. Not that you had many friends to begin with anyhow. Besides your surface-level coworkers, and pleasant enough neighbors, you really had no one. Maybe your brother. But Vern was always busy with his own stuff. Off lollygagging in ego-land. It was funny enough you moved to New York to be closer to him, and yet you kept your distances with such different jobs and responsibilities. Big town, big dreams Vern, and little old, simple, you.

You know he would think you're something shy of insane if you told him something like this. Whatever. You were fine on your own.

And so you’d figure this one out on your own.

It took a full shift at your job to try and pull together some sort of idea, and what you had in mind didn’t seem too crazy. Though it seemed to drag on forever, another weekend came to you, a late night where this time you’d feel prepared enough to see this stranger again. It was a great idea in theory. Leaving the window just slightly open, and setting the sai on its sill. You realize, to an outsider it would look like a mousetrap. Like bait. But maybe a peace treaty could be taken from its exterior appearance. Maybe. You, at the very least, could just let it sit and allow the weapon’s owner to be reunited with it. And you did.

Waiting in your room seemed like such a trek from the kitchen, for such a quick shadow that kept to themselves in the night. You’d hoped to at least catch another glimpse of them in the moonlight. So you take to the hiding spot from the night prior, crouched close to the floor right under the sink, leaning against a cabinet and watching the oven tick its way to one. You waited. Time slugged its way along.

1:07

1:20

1:34

Disappointment sunk in your gut as you watch the clock roll and no sign of the sai’s owner. Until you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the fire escape. Your heart races like it did the first time, as they climb higher up and land gently on the main footing. You peek your head just slightly to hear a quiet huff, and a hand reaches through the window and settles on the weapon.

You stand quickly, to try and stop the silhouette, and catch those eyes again. It’s not anyone you’re expecting. It’s a man, in a black baseball cap and dark clothes, and a wild look in his eyes.

“What are you doing?!” You don’t mean to shout but it startles him and he lets go of the sai, leaving it to clatter loudly into the sink. He stares at you, long, hard, and without a muscle in his face twitching, he’s moving towards the open window, and reaching for you.

“Stop! STOP!”

Your arm is snatched in an iron tight grip and he’s roughly trying to drag you out onto the fire escape. Pulling away seems fruitless, but the counter serves as a barrier between the two of you. It presses rough into your lower stomach as you struggle.

“Come on babe,” he grunts, low and foul. A hand reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, while the other holds your wrist through the passage of the window.

“Let GO!” You don’t want to see whatever he’s pulling from the sheath of his pocket, and you don’t even get the chance before a blur of pure strength lands on his right and knocks him over, losing his grip on you and sending you flying backwards onto the floor. You can’t see the man anymore from where you sit, gawking at the mountain of a figure that far surpasses the height of your window. They tower over his trembling voice that floats into your kitchen.

“What the hell ARE you?!” You hear him move up to his feet, huffing out shaky breaths.

“Your worst nightmare.” Their voice is a low, brooding, masculine growl that rumbles from their throat, “the fuck do you think you’re doing, breaking into some girls house, huh?”

They reach down and with zero effort, lift the man from his feet by the collar of his jacket, as he squeaks out a pathetic noise. You can’t tear your eyes away. They turn and throw him onto the stairs. He yelps, and you hear a punch make contact with the side of his face. They lean down close to his face, just out of your view. You can’t bring yourself to stand, or bring any attention to yourself. It’s none of your business what they say.

“If I see your face around here again, you’re a dead man.” They say in a hushed voice, “you hear me?”

The man doesn’t say anything, just shudders out a weak breath. You assume he nods

“Get the fuck out of here.”

They grab him again and turn back the other way before you hear him shout like a kicked puppy. He hits the ground with a pained cry, and then it’s quiet after his sobs slink away into the night. And as it stills, your saving grace is staring back at you through your window, eyes shadowed. They lean down just slightly enough so that you can hear.

“You okay in there?”

His voice is softer now, still low in pitch, but, far less fucking mortifying. You catch the lilt of a Brooklyn accent.

“Yeah,” is all that you can breathlessly muster. It’s all he needs to turn and leap up the stairs. You jump before you can process and practically shove your whole upper half out of the window.

“Wait!”

He’s nearly at the top, but when you call out, he stops. You get a good look at the silhouette in front of the early morning moon. Huge, broad shoulders slump with an annoyed, defeated huff, behind an armored shell. A fucking shell. He doesn't reply, waiting for you to say something.

“Is this yours?” you ask. It’s hesitant and gentle, like consoling an injured animal.

Your outreached hand holds the sai out to him. He turns to look, eyes widening at your offer. You’re surprised when he leaps back down to your balcony and you flinch back into the window, arm still outreached but shaking. The clear view of him makes your lungs stagger. A giant turtle. Huge rolling muscles, scales and scattered scars are looming far past your height and staring down at you. You feel infinitely small. Those striking eyes flick undecidedly between you and the outstretched hand, enveloped in a red bandanna that wraps over his head.

“I’ve been looking for this.”

A huge, three fingered hand pulls it from your grip. You can feel the tough scales brush over your soft skin, and you don’t even try to hide the amazed shudder.

“Thanks.”

You can’t think of anything to say, just staring up at them in astonishment as he pulled the other identical weapon from a hilt on his hip. A soft upwards tilt of the mouth indicates a smile. It disappears when those eyes are suddenly locked onto yours again.

“Got something you wanna say?” Suddenly the gruff exterior you witnessed not moments ago was back, as he shoved the sais in their respective hilts, and crossed impossibly huge arms over a broad chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered out. His eyes softened again, but not fully breaking the intimidating show they put on. To you, it seemed like a surprise to this savior that you were thanking him for saving your life.

“Yeah don’t mention it,” he turned, “Look out for yourself,” he was trying to leave, bracing to scale the steps once again.

“Wait.”

You shot your hand out without thinking, touching one of hjs arms, cool textured skin over rolling muscles. His head whipped around in surprise, eyes wide. You immediately yanked your arm back through the window.

“I-I don’t…Sorry,” you squeak out, “Tell me your name.”

The turtle squinted just slightly. A deep green, scanning, gauging, trying to see if you were playing at something. Suspicious. Untrusting.

“Please.” You huff.

“Your worst nightmare.” His grin surprised you.

And with that, he was gone. You watched, an incredulous, idiotic smile crawling it’s way across your features, as he vaulted up the top of the stairs and then pushed off to the adjacent roof of the building with an unbelievable amount of strength, tails of that unforgettable red bandanna flitting behind him, and he took off into the early hours of the morning. You're left hanging, bewildered, out of your kitchen window.

A fucking turtle. Is all you can think.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EYYYY WHAT DO Y'ALL THINKKKK??? I love how part 1 turned out, and I'm writing another part as we speak but I'm SO excited to see where this goes!!!!!! thank you all for your continued support on this page, and don't forget to PLEASE REBLOG !!

lemme know if you want to be added to the below listed taglist so you don't miss our!!

THANK YOU BABES 💕🩷🧼💓🫧

taglist!! [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 ]

[freyholland]

im obsessed with how teenage Misty tries so hard to mask and mirror the people around her but it's that usual autistic funhouse mirroring where everything is just slightly off and wrong and so people find her extremely off-putting and even creepy and it ends up making things worse than if she'd just been fully herself to begin with. i love that with adult Misty you can see that she's basically stopped masking and allows herself to be as weird and quirky as she wants to be - but she still mirrors the people she loves (primarily Nat) because that's such a huge part of how she's learned to interact with others. also like that they gave her a pet parrot in obvious reference to that. she learned mirroring as a survival strategy but now it's become her love language

[iggyshippingcorner]

okay so the wife dropped a glorious stobotnik idea in my lap:

time loop stobotnik but the movies take place well into the loops. like s1 sees stone on his 40th loop. he’s so outwardly fond and loving towards a robotnik who very much ISN’T because he’s lived this so many times and has become more or less immune to his eccentricities and cruelties, leaving only an overwhelming affection for his neuroses. stone has long accepted that his life is, for whatever reason, inescapably tied to robotnik’s. if he dies, it’s game over for both of them, start back at the beginning: his first day on the job.

( important note: this is not a perfect “scripted” loop. predictability varies— stone knows what and when and where robotnik wants, but this approach causes unprompted and unexpected changes in every robotnik, who hates being predictable and will actively try to throw stone for a loop (ha). )

i am soooo infatuated with time loop fics and this is getting added to the docket right underneath the stone whump that i keep getting ideas for

[thelaundrybitch]

@redsrooftopprincess @the-cauldron-witch @ninnosaurus @milykins @justalotoffanfiction @wynndigogh @sophiacloud28 @ferox-imagines @uniqueoutlierblog @raphslovemuffin80 @raisin-shell @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @raphsmuneca

In This Place

Bayverse AU It's an idea that's been rattling in my brain for a while and after I wrote this first part, I sat on it for a few months more. Thought I'd share. *********

Her scent preceded her. A clean, floral breeze that danced atop the stench of piss, blood and filth. She did not belong here. Her shoes and linens far too clean. Everything about her was too fresh and too white to be in a place like this.

“My Lady, you must be lost. This is no place for you,” said the beast master as he met her before the row. It was auction day. She wasn't the only human inspecting the mutants for sale. But she was the only one who clearly did not belong. The other humans were of dust and filth, just like this part of the market. Used to working with unruly beasts, both human and inhuman as they haggled out in the open, or sometimes, behind closed doors. They were used to the sale of live bodies and dangerous creatures. Shrewd in their dealings of buying and selling of souls until their usefulness ran out.

“If you are looking for a pet, you have found the wrong market,” the beast master continued. “These are all dangerous creatures. Too rough and wild for someone as fair as you.”

She regarded the beast master; a large man, scarred on his face and arms as evidence of his livelihood. A minute frown pursed her lips.

“I am not looking for a pet. I need something...more.” She slipped past him and walked along the row of chained mutants for sale. They were big with long claws and sharp fangs. Most were bigger than a human with haunted, wary eyes. Used to whips and violence, and the filth of the markets and other dark places where they were trafficked.

“Do they understand when I speak? Do they listen?” she continued.

The beast master followed her, still not convinced she was in the right place. “They understand. But listening, that I can't guarantee. These are wild, feral animals, My Lady. Whatever you are looking for, you will not find it here.”

She ignored him and continued up the row, eyeing each creature. “I need something big, scary, but something I can trust. Like a guard dog.” She stopped in front of a jackal mutant; dark furred and yellow-eyed. It looked at her calmly, but wary. She stepped forward and it snapped. It lunged, jaws out. She jerked back as spittle sprayed her. The chains held the mutant for a moment. But at the second lunge, the stake holding its chains loosened from the ground.

The woman of white linen and flower scent fell back as the first touch of fangs made contact with her arm. But a scrape was all they managed. Even as the beast master lunged forward with his whip, the jackal was already yanked back. The small hint of freedom seemed to have made the beast feral. It snarled and clawed and snapped its jaws, but a much larger mutant had a hold of its chain. Green; thick-skinned and shelled. Limbs big like tree trunks.

This turtle mutant made no sound as he hauled the jackal back. Pinned the leaner canine down with a big hand on its back, then the other on its head while it growled and snapped. He held the jackal down until the humans of the market managed to get it properly restrained once more.

“As I said, My Lady,” the beast master repeated as the woman stood and dusted herself off, “this is no place for you.”

She paid him no mind as she approached the turtle mutant, now standing back in his place, waiting to be sold. He was covered in scars from head to toe. Grizzled and tired. But there was nothing aggressive about him. She stepped up to the line, the one put in place to keep all potential buyers at a safe distance. When the turtle did nothing, she stepped closer.

“My Lady!” the beast master called. “Stay behind the line.”

He knew beasts, but so did she. She looked up at the turtle as he gazed down at her.

“You protected me,” she told him.

“That one is from the gladiator pits,” another of the merchants said, speaking mostly to the beast master. “Very aggressive. He was retired due to his leg. He is useless in a fight now.”

She glanced down at his leg. A crude bandage wrapped around his thigh and over his knee. The flesh was swollen and red, and stank with infection.

“My Lady,” the beast master tried again. There was slight aggravation in his tone now as he tried to guide her back across the line. “If you tell me what you are looking for, I will help you find something with a more agreeable temperament. This one...this one is worth more if it were cut up and sold in pieces than in the state it is now.”

She glanced over to address the beast master and then the turtle caught her attention. His hulking form lowered and knelt before her, though it clearly pained him to do so. She knew most of the mutants could at least voice a few words, but she was still startled when the turtle spoke. His voice was deep, but dry like leaves before the first snow. Like his voice was being used for the first time in years.

“I understand and I listen, My Lady,” he rasped. “Take me outta here and I'll serve you 'til my last breath.”

She reached to him. Paused slightly before her fingers brushed the top of his scarred head. Still in contact, she sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, then let it out.

“This one,” she announced and smartly turned to the beast master. “This one shall be delivered to my estate.”

“My Lady,” he tried once again to convince her. “This mutant...this one is not for you. He is for the butcher. He would be worth more to you if you sold his meat and his shell.”

She raised her head, determined. “Then his meat and shell will be mine, in one form or another. I will buy him.”

**************

Raphael was boxed up into a crate and wheeled through the city. It wasn't a new sensation to him to be bought and sold like property. The various brands of different owners on his body were a testament to that. But this was the first time he had ever been delivered to this part of town. The part with the big estates. Massive houses where everything was clean and white. Where it seemed like the dust and filth of his world couldn't reach.

He was in a new world now. As he stared at the estate through the bars of his cage, Raphael wondered if he would be saved here, or if this would be his final resting place.

The estate was huge. White marble and plush red rugs. The place had fucking house staff, which all looked beside themselves when his cage was delivered. There was an older woman that seemed to be in charge. She too looked a bit overwhelmed with this delivery, but had no problem facing off with the men who delivered him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with this?” she motioned to Raphael in his cage.

“Not my problem,” replied one of the two men. “We just deliver. What you do with that thing is your business. Sign here for the creature.”

The woman signed, but she did so with a severe frown. And when the men began to open his cage, she balked.

“What...what are you doing? You can't just let that thing out!”

“Only the mutant was paid for, not the cage,” the other man responded as if he had heard it all before.

The cage door was open and Raphael knew the drill. Still adorned in chains, he limped out and into the sun. Even the sun felt cleaner here; more energizing instead of hot and brutal. His infected leg prevented him from moving too fast, but he was no stranger to pain. It was a dull, hot ache simmering in the background of everything else that had happened to him lately. An hour before, he thought he was for sure going to the meat market and now...he was in this place.

One of the men handed this woman the tail end of his chains and the key to his shackles. “He's all yours. Good luck.”

The woman, who was most likely the head of the house staff, held both items dumbly as the men packed up to leave. “Wait! You're just going? You're not going to do anything to make sure we're protected from this...creature?”

The men looked to her and then to Raphael who had done nothing else but stand there. “He's your problem now. He doesn't seem to be too much of a handful. Hell, with the state of him, he may be dead in a few days anyway. Good luck.”

They left the woman huffing with the chain in her hand. Now she nearly looked too angry to be scared of him. And in this moment, Raphael had a realization. He could easily tear himself away from the befuddled woman and lumber off to freedom. But he also knew it would be a short freedom. If he left the grounds, if he showed any sign of violence, it would be his death. This world of humans would not tolerate his life for long.

So he looked down calmly at the woman and her small cadre of house staff, all looking at him as if he would run rampant at any moment.

“I will go where ever you want me to,” Raphael spoke, causing them all to jump. “I won't hurt anyone.”

A few of the other staff members still looked unsure, but the older woman seemed satisfied enough. She still looked distrustful and not at all happy with the hand—or turtle—she had been dealt. But she kept his chain in her hand as she led him forward. “Come along, then. We'll see what we can do to get you presentable.”

Raphael obediently followed like a dog on a leash. Nothing here was dangerous. He didn't have to fight for food, he didn't have to keep an eye on his back. He was so tired of fighting off creatures more feral than himself. This was a nice change of pace. He would gladly walk around this whole estate for days instead of going back to the pits or the market.

He was taken to a large trough of water where he was told to strip out of what little of a loincloth he still had and to clean himself. They didn't unchain him and Raphael didn't care as he sat in the cool water and sighed. It was a hot summer day and this felt amazing to his turtle instincts. He could live here in this trough, chains or no chains. No one requested he leave the water, so Raphael stayed for some time. He had actually fallen asleep when a gruff voice cleared his throat. He opened his lids half way to find a large man standing over him with a leather bag in his hand. Raphael had seen this man before. He was one of the few mutant medics. He had often heard people refer to them has a type of veterinarian in jest. But maybe they were just that. After all, he was an animal.

“I was hired to patch up your leg.” The man was curt. His voice told he had no time for foolery. “Get out.”

Long used to obeying a rough voice, Raphael heaved himself out of the water. He sat on the concrete floor as the doctor poked and prodded at his wound with no care for his comfort. The turtle was used to pain and barely flinched. Not until the doctor began to squeeze the wound to clear out the bacteria and puss. He jerked a bit from the pain and growled, but the doctor had seen far moodier mutants in his time. It wasn't too long before Raphael's wound stung cleanly of antiseptic, wrapped in a tight bandage.

Afterward, Raphael was given a pair of linen trousers to wear and was escorted into a side part of the main house. Inside, there was a wood table and a sturdy chair, and food. Actual food. Not grainy slop, not dirty near-rotted items from the market that could no longer be sold for human consumption. Actual good food: fruits and vegetables, bread, meat.

Raphael hesitated. There was no way this was for him. He had to be dreaming. The head of the household motioned him to sit. “For you, from our mistress. Eat. And behave yourself.”

Raphael didn't need to be told twice. He tried to remember what little manners her knew and ate carefully, but hungrily. While he was fed regularly as a fighter in the pits, once he was determined too wounded to go back in the ring, all resources had been cut off. He hadn't eaten for two days.

This was all too good to be true. He ate, but cautiously. As if suspicious of making even a single wrong move and it would all be taken away.

No one came to take his food. However, the woman from the market, still smelling of a fresh breeze and flowers, came into the room. Raphael paused the shoveling of food into his face as she stepped forward with the key and unshackled him. The chains fell heavily to the floor and Raphael eyed the woman carefully as she sat herself in the chair opposite of him.

“I hope these accommodations have been to your liking,” she said politely.

Raphael chewed and swallowed. “Best I've ever been treated in a long time.”

“You can continue to have this and more, as long as you are loyal to me. Betray me, and you go back to the meat market and I'll hang your shell on my wall.”

He licked his teeth. “Seems fair. But I need you to tell me why I'm here. What do you want me to do for you?”

She shifted slightly, squaring her shoulders. “My husband was murdered two days ago. He had many enemies and now I fear for my life. I fear there may be eyes and ears within these walls. I needed someone from outside, someone without any ties who only has loyalty to me. Your job will be to protect me. As long as I am alive, you will never know hunger or cold. You will live in comfort for the rest of your days. Do we have a deal?”

“I already told ya,” Raphael said seriously. “I'd serve you until my dying breath for getting me out of there. I meant every word.”

His new mistress leveled her gaze at him, looking satisfied. “Then we part when one of us dies.”

@thelaundrybitch @leosgirl82 @dilucsflame33 @fluffytriceratops @thepinkpanther83 @yorshie @yamanekomono @androidships007 @silversunskyless @avery73

[vinelark]

i've been chipping away at the ch6 draft all day and the bad news is that i've hit the "oh this is actually so bad and no one will like it" stage, but the good news is that usually precedes the "full steam ahead let's finish it" stage

[solomiracle]

(this might've been addressed in-game already and i just haven't caught up to it yet but) can you imagine how solomon is going to react when he learns that mc's powers are out of control AGAIN. i assume he'll be calm and collected yet urgent, like the first time with the ring, but i also hope he has more casually insane moments like how he went "well this ends with either mc being mad at me or the entire worlds as we know them being destroyed... goodbye worlds!".

on one hand, he's thrilled because this means mc's growing stronger, and that's just better for himself and humanity overall, but on the other hand... he's gonna get a lucifer level head ache and heart attack combo if mc keeps this up

[flowerakatsuka]

a while ago, i started working on something meant to explain the lore behind this kurokara drawing i did back in may, but i never ended up finishing it. it popped back into my head again so i decided to redraw one of the panels from it to see how much my art / style imitation has improved since then. i'm pretty proud of how much my art's grown!! 😊✨

the original sketch is under the cut!

[thelaundrybitch]

@leosgirl82 @yorshie @sophiacloud28 @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @leoandraphssoulmate @thejudiciousneurotic @celeste-clearwater-06

A TMNT tale:

The Perfect Trap

Part 1: Don't Notice *Ahem*

Warning: No Minors, 18+ ONLY

This is just a little story that has been floating around in my head for years. I figured I'd start to write a bit of it down and see how far I get it out.

Due to my schedule, I'm going to have to post it in very small bite-sized pieces.

If you like TMNT based romance/adventure, you might enjoy it, who knows.

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

You diligently stand still as he works.

He is usually masterful in all that he does but this particular task seems to be getting the better of him.

A gruff agitation seeps out of his throat. It is a sound you've heard many-a-times aimed at a certain hot-head, but one rarely revealed used against himself.

It is an unspoken testament signifying his displeasure at his progress.

You try your best to hide the smirk that blossoms across your pink lips but his eyes are too keen and you are caught.

"This isn't funny, love, we're already late."

"And who's fault is that?", you tease with a smile, trying your best to look superior and innocent all at the same time.

His eyes cut sharply at you, but the higher lift of your cheeks, as you taunt your collective predicament, has him fighting to conceal his own smile.

He clears his throat, an attempt to regain his composure, but you can still hear a hint of jovial undertone in his reply, "I say it is yours."

Your mouth drops open in astonishment.

"I have warned you about that particular pencil skirt and set of pumps", he adds with a stern look.

You bow up in an attempt to make your petite stature imposing, finger in his face, "Leonardo, you know full-well I bought those nice clothes specifically for my new job. What am I supposed to wear?"

Your cross your arms. He cocks a brow.

"Fine! Monday I'll just go nude. Nude it is then.", you state defiantly, smugly.

He leans down close, bringing you two snout to nose, and uses that deathly calm yet threatening voice he has, "I doubt that would solve the problem we keep finding ourselves in, love", and with speed that still reels your senses, no matter how many months you two have been dating, your cardigan is stripped from your shoulders and thrown into the growing pile of your clothes on the bed.

You let out a sigh as he turns to rummage through your closet again.

"Don't you have any tops with stout collars? Where are the turtle necks?"

You fall onto the disheveled bed with a huff.

"Babe, it's early April. It's getting too warm for turtle necks. Your family is going to start thinking there's something wrong with me if I keep wearing them."

His clear blue eyes stare back at you, you can see all the implications of your words registering and another strategy being formed.

"Right, okay, put the skirt and pumps back on."

You cock your brow and question him with your eyes, "For Casey's birthday gathering? Office wear for Casey Jones? The jeans and blood stained t-shirt guy, that Casey Jones?"

"Just do it," he says as he crosses your bedroom to pull one of your satin scarfs off the headboard. You are pulling up the zipper of the skirt as his hands loop the scarf into an elegant fabric chain and positions it tightly around your neck.

"There.", he declares triumphantly while pulling your hair down around the ensemble to complete the look.

He turns you to the mirror, "See, the love mark is hidden and you look beautiful. We'll just say you were kept late at the office and you had to come in your workwear."

You tug at the tight scarf hiding the dark purple hicky. Inwardly you sigh, being in love with a private person is it's own battle. However, add on the fact that someone being a ninja, not human, and the eldest of four virgin guys, well...three virgins now...the battle is ever tiring.

And tired lately you have been.

_______________________________________

More to come...

Part 2

[cartoonguy08]

shaking you around I LOVE YOUR ART!!!!! IT IS SUCH A HUGE INSPIRATION FOR ME!!!!!!!! YOU CAPTURE THE MERCS SO WELL!!!!!!!!!!!!

DOING THIS TO YOU 🫵🫵🫵/POS

I’m so honored!! I can’t thank y’all enough I genuinely don’t expect this much love for my work so it really makes me giddy like hell when I see comments like this, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 💚💚💚🫶🫶🫶🫶