#Spliter

[fathom-i-kindred-of-time]

SHOULD THIS BE SPLINTERS CANON DESIGN CHAT???

It was honestly js for gits and shiggles at first but i honestly love it???? 😭🙏

[pumpkin-mines]

I craft my words to fit your head cause no one listens to the dead

[theelvishfiddler]

Thank you for the flowers!

[pisschat]

he's literally my son shut up

[doslimones]

I'm so normal about the fact that Mikey said "You didin't think to tell us!?" And no something like what Raph said. Like it make me think that he didin't even think that Splinter would try to fix it on his own or that he could do it. He's so used to him never helping, to them having to solve they problems by they own. I don't know, maybe i just thought too much on that.

Kid Leo Au: "Again & Again"

Part 6!

Big reveal, Splinter knew about the plan!!! ( or did he?)

I wanna add that I don't think Splinter isn't smart, he just is incredibly neglectful and just does not pay enough attention to his kids to be able to foresee danger. If that makes sense.

Anyway poll time!!

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Prev | Next

[ducknotinarow]

[Foot FTM Casey Karai]

Casey had made himself comfortable in Karai's room; never asking for permission to enter, and never planning on doing so anytime soon. But he wasn't being annoying, a rare occurrence. No, he was sat there, simply enjoying the silent company of being with his sister. A sister that accepted him for who he was. Sure, she slipped up here and there, but Casey knew she never called him 'Eve' out of maliciousness.

Shifting, Casey leaned his head back, looking up to Karai. The arguments between him and dad were getting worse; it was starting to weigh him down - tremendously at that. Swallowing, Casey's gaze flickered away briefly, before looking back at her,

"Hey Rai," He spoke up, voice softer than intended, "D' yer ever think father will ever accept the fact I'm not Evelyn anymore...?"

Casey isn't stupid, he already knows the answer. But he's searching for hope in a desolate place,

"Or am I gonna be fightin' him 'bout this forever?" He knows he will, "He can accept mutants an' aliens oh but my daughter's actually my son?? Now that's where we draw the line?! Fuckin' prick."

He's just venting now; he supposes it's simply because it feels nice to be heard,

"I coul' take every drug, 'ave every surgery possible, look like a guy through an' through...but he'd still bury me in a fuckin' dress."

Casey sighs, rolls his head back as he stares at the ceiling. He can feel his anger boiling.

"Karai...d'yer think there's anythin' I'm ever gonne be able t' d', that's actually gonna get him t' accept who I am."

| muse interaction

The room was quite as Karai was reclined back against her pillows well aware of Casey in her room. Hard to miss them but they hadn't said a word simply made them self comfortable on the floor near her bed. Normally Casey made her his presence known running their mouth about something to complain about. From Karai stealing their makeup to bitching about their father. Karai always tended to glare when they came in and make some remark about her peace being disturb over it. But When Casey came in to the the room they hadn't said a word. Hardly gave a look towards Karai even as they made their way in and took their current place in the room. Living with someone so long gave a benefit of just knowing a change in mood from the smallest things. So Karai went back to reading the article on her phone's screen. A museum was going to be showcasing a pretty famous katana among it other exhibits here soon.

What a waste letting such a famed weapon sit to gather dust and grown dull.

It wasn't that she wasn't interested in why Casey was in her room of course she was, but if she simply asked? Casey might just grow defensive suddenly. And well their emotions had been all over the place. Not that Karai fully blame them. The dramatics of cutting their own hair and blows with their dad were still pretty fresh in the end. So she simply looked up the the map layout of the museum that the katana was going to be displayed at. It shouldn't be so easy to find the schematics of a building housing priceless artifacts.

"Hey Rai,"

She hummed slightly to show she was listening to them she noticed how soft their tone was when they spoke up so she set her phone down on her bed and moved from her place among her pillows to instead dangle her legs over the side next to Casey looking down at them as they seemed to be thinking. Shocker there maybe those drug were putting thoughts in that empty skull of theirs.

"D' yer ever think father will ever accept the fact I'm not Evelyn anymore…?"

Karai slightly bite at her bottom lip over the question. There was no way even they were that stupid to think the answer would be so easy as a simple 'yes'.

"Or am I gonna be fightin' him 'bout this forever?"

Karai hadn't spoke up yet moving to slightly lean over and rest her check to the back of her hand. At best this was all rhetorical. Karai had to admit she was a bit thrown by Casey's coming out herself. Granted getting told at two in the morning the sister you have always known was now dead? Was a bit much to take in as they stood in front of you with nothing more than a pair of scissors and chunk of hair.

"He can accept mutants an' aliens oh but my daughter's actually my son?? Now that's where we draw the line?! Fuckin' prick."

If karai was honest which she was the answer would be a resounding 'No duh' But she let then rant and vent it out easily hearing the tone in Casey's voice. She had to admit she was still learning her self often needing to correct both when she spoke and thought alone. She just bite her tongue for a moment. She knows the people around Casey do need to also change in away themselves when it comes to something like gender transitioning. A few of the foot soldiers were proving to be dicks about it themselves from what Karai had hear around the compound. Good thing it didn't take to hard a hit to make them remember their place.

"I coul' take every drug, 'ave every surgery possible, look like a guy through an' through…but he'd still bury me in a fuckin' dress."

"Yeah." She didn't mean for that to slip, but how could she not? It was plain as day, that was the case. Far as thier father cared or was even concured about Casey would never be Caseh to him. Sure Karia could understand maybe an internal knee reaction she wasn't immune to it herself. Having felt nearly the same. Maybe that was discrediting herself too much though at best she just kept saying the wrong name and Pronouns here and there and admitly she was still wrapping her head around the thought.

Him though? No thier father was someone you couldn't make budge an inch. They would be here in New York now if you could after all. One single hint of a cule that any Hamato Clan surviors were around more so a man name Yoshi. Was all it took to move his family to New York after all.

So honestly? This seemed near impossible to Karai. As Casey moved thier head back look up towards the ceiling of her room.

"Karai…d'yer think there's anythin' I'm ever gonne be able t' d', that's actually gonna get him t' accept who I am."

"Well, Eve- sorry, Casey." She was quick to catch herself before moving to join him on the floor. "I think you're asking for the impossible here. I mean, it's dad. He's killed off foot soldiers for not performing katas perfect enough." She states it wasn't comforting it kind of wasn't meant to be though. It was more trying to give them the harsh truth in a sense least from where Karai stood she was able to see that truth. A sage distance from the pain came with it as well.

"I feel like it takes a lot more than beating up a pharmacy worker or simply standing up to him." Slightly calling out Casey's past actions not that she faulted them on the latter. Even karai had to have a heated debate with their father from time to time. She doesn get an idea now however considering her own sneaking around to want to explore the area lately. "You know speaking of mutants I happen to have met one of interest to dad." There was only one set of mutants that had the Shrdders attetion lately. More than he ever even bothered to pay to his three kids as of late.

"A turtle mutant." She smirks a little she clearly hadn't yet mentioned this to their father. There was no real reason she was just bored and messing around. She would mention it or maybe someone else could? Was whar she was hinting at here. Hey right now Casey mlre than anyone needed a win.

[avloki-pal]

Splinter capivara não era algo que eu esperava ver mas eu amo ele

What if TMNT took place in São Paulo, Brazil instead? Now with the second part of characters. Splinter here is a Capybara, and we have the redesign of April and Casey.

Welcome to the Brazilian Au

[dxckgrxsonx]

ella. beloved. #4 i beg. your pick on who with 💛

Title: You - 0. Shitty Motel Bathroom - 1. Pairing: Jason Todd x (F) Reader. Words: 1.4k Warnings: SMUT 18+ - Mentions of Violence & Injuries. Prompt: 4) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds). Notes: Mags!! hi my love. this one got away with me and i only realised when i was 700+ words in and hadn't gotten to the smut part. whoops! hope you enjoy <3

****

You can’t scrub the dust out of your tactical suit.

Water sloshes up your wrists and you flinch, the long, thin gash spreading up your forearm stinging something fierce and annoying. If Alfred knew you were washing both yours and Jason’s suits in a fucking motel bathtub he’d string you up in Wayne Manor as a warning to others.

Sucks to be you, Alfred, you’ll never find out.

The second you submerged the rough fabric in the tub the colour changed. Clear, to murky, to downright swamp water; three days worth of blood and dirt and grime hooked into the fabric and refusing to come free. If your throat wasn’t bruised from a strangulation attempt hours earlier you’d tip your head back and scream.

Sprawled out on the shitty motel bed Jason naps.

Digging bullets from his body turns consciousness headlong into drowsiness. Or maybe it was blood-loss. You’re no stranger to patching up Hood when things deviate from his carefully calculated plans, and as such, you’re scarily aware of his tolerance to pain.

He says its a side-effect of the Lazarus Pit–his body deadening the nerves in response to physical trauma–you say he’s full of fucking shit because no one can sit through hours of forceps pulling bullet spliters from three different layers of skin, fat, and muscle before his souped up body knits closed the wounds.

Jason just grinned, eyes glowing such a vibrant green you’d asked if he was actually a Lantern.

The smile dropped off his face so fast you ended up with whiplash and you had to move even faster to avoid a furious headbutt. But you couldn’t escape his forty-seven minute rant about how Green Lantern is a stupid bitch.

Now, Jason lays silent like the grave, although you’ve caught his trigger finger flexing in his sleep. You hope whatever he’s dreaming about isn’t nasty enough to follow him back into wakefulness.

You give up trying to clean your suits, instead planning to fire them off into space to hide the evidence of your bathtub wash failure; in your head, you’re pretty sure Roy could invent something close to a cannon strong enough to launch things into the stratosphere, although he’d call it something stupid like: GCPD’s outstanding response to finding evidence.

Stepping back into the room you move to check on Jason and pause.

It’s a thin sheet covering his lower half–so far from the colour white you don’t want to think about it–and he’s hard.

Desire blooms against the palms of your hands at the way his cock tents the fabric.

At your staring, Jason wakes with an annoyed huff.

“Can you not stare at me?”

“I don’t know, can you not get a hard on and distract me?”

Jason locks up, then tries to sit up, but his body fails immediately, giving right out from under him. His hand tries to cover where he presses up against the sheets but it doesn’t make much of a difference. All you can focus on now is the thickness of him, of how part of his length still spills out around his hand.

You swallow and it hurts.

“You’re not helping.” Jason states when you don’t look away. “So unless you’re going to help, leave so I can get things under control.”

Your eyebrow climbs up, “Get things under control how? Your dominant arm is fucked and I clearly remember pulling a bullet from your hip, and thigh. The only thing you should be getting under control is your shitty reflexes.”

Memory surges, Jason’s body curling in on itself, leg dragging heavy and limp behind him. His helmet hid the look on his face, but you’ve been fighting beside him enough times now to read other parts of him. He was hurt, in pain, and he still tackled the body pressing you into the dirt, hands clamped tight around your neck.

“I should’ve let them choke you to death.” He says, still hard.

Your mouth quirks up, “Too late for that now. Want some help with that? I could use a stress reliever.”

Jason’s eyes search your face, the weight of his attention something physical, “You’d be doing most of the work.”

“Yeah but I’ll be on top for once.”

He sighs, settling back against the thin pillows, “If this bed breaks, you’re the one telling reception.”

“Bet.”

****

Jason pants desperately underneath you, sweat clinging to the strands of hair falling over his forehead. He won’t take his eyes off the way your pussy swallows his cock, inches sinking into your perfect wet heat and twitching.

Planting your feet, you feel the fierce burn in your thighs and fuck yourself on his length.

Beneath you, Jason moans, abdomen flexing. His hands reach for your hips on reflex and he whips back with a flinch when his wound splits and pulls, displeasure detonating across his face so quick you want to laugh.

“Fuck.” He whines. “I want to touch you so bad.”

Smoothing a palm across his chest you pinch at his nipple, “Only you wouldn’t be happy with being asked to lay there and let me fuck myself on your dick.

Your pace slows to a gentle rock of your hips, clit grinding at the base of his cock. Your own wetness gathers there, and you can feel the swell of Jason’s chest whilst he watches you smear your own juices across your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Ugh. So fucking pretty.” He says. “You’re beautiful.”

The praise has heat splashing wild, near uncontrollable, up your throat, and you lean down to kiss Jason. As soon as your lips brush he tips his head in such a way you sigh softly, the pressure of his mouth making your head spin. Your lips part ever-so-slightly and Jason–never one to waste an opportunity–licks into your mouth.

Pulling back you rest your foreheads together and despite his injuries, Jason raises his hips and fucks up into you.

“Shit.” You breathe. “Be careful, Jay. Last thing I want is you fucking up your stitches.”

Being as close together as you are, Jason shifts a free hand and uses it to trace the finger shaped bruises around your throat. Fury flashes bright and brilliant in his eyes, mouth pressing into a frown the longer he stares; the longer he watches you wince at the mere pressure of his hand.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” He whispers, voice so low you barely catch the undertow of guilt. But you sink your fingers into the meat of it and want to weep. “I hate it when you get hurt.”

The rock of your hips falters, emotion slipping heavy across your shoulders, you cave inwards, unable to fully hold its weight. If you had been paying more attention, it never would have happened anyway and the knowledge that Jason–your perfect Jason–so full of emotion, blames himself for it?

You could start to cry and never quite stop.

“Don’t do that.” You try to say, but your voice is so swollen with emotion it hardly makes sense, “It’s not your fault. Please, Jason.”

His head shakes, hips picking up a gentle rhythm, setting the pace where you left off despite the pull at his body. Pleasure flares in your cunt, over your heart. Jason invokes such a strong sense of fondness at the middle of your chest it drives you near mad.

You’re so close to falling. Nerves strung taut, maybe a little frayed at the softness of him, but you’re ready for it; ready to tip off the edge and tumble into his capable hands.

“You’re everything.” Jason says, and he closes his eyes so you can’t see him. Something critical inside you revolts at the fact you can’t look him in the eye. “You mean everything.”

“Can you look at me?” You ask, trembling and holding yourself at the precipice of bliss. “Please can I see you, Jason.”

His eyes flutter open, a raw, violent kind of devotion curling around that mesmerizing green and you snap, shaking and squeezing at his cock, hand desperately flying to your clit to rub at it, feel it twitch fat against the pads of your fingers.

Jason watches you so carefully and you call his name, beg him to come with you, and he wouldn’t dream of denying you a damn thing.

****

[stellaspectral]

Hey, I really love your work ❤️, I have a bit of a long one, and I'm sorry it's so longwinded, but I would really appreciate it if you did something with it. It's like an AU zombie universe but the future of the bayverse world they get transported to. So they get transported to the future where there are zombies, they go around a bit discovering and surviving, thinking its a different reality, when its actually the future, when they run into reader. Reader absolutely freaks out, and they think its because the fact they are mutant turtles. Then, future raph comes in because he's concerned for the reader, who is his best friend. He was upstairs, and she was downstairs in this house they were looking for supplies in. They are all surprised and shocked, and they get taken back to their base. A bunch of people live there, as the turtles kind of run somewhere like alexandria from the walking dead, and they meet future mikey, who is in charge of the gardens and farms and also a solider protecting this place and he has a one month old baby and a wife, future donnie who's a medic and is in charge of all the technical stuff while also ofc being a protecter and he has a wife that died and has adopted a kid whos 10 from the apocalypse, he could have a situationship going on or something like that. Future raph is a forager and has a gf for 2 years. All the turtles look older and worn down by the apocalypse, like, for example, raph is missing an arm. The present-day turtles find out that the reader was Leo's wife, who died protecting her and their adopted son, who's 4 now. Spliter died fighting the zombified shredder who bit him as the foot base was overrun by zombies. The rest is for interpretation but just like them living in the apocalypse with their future self while reader and their son feeling strange about the situation as leo died, and sort of treat leo like their husband/dad while also realizing it's not him. All the turtles are still ofc still grieving the loss of their brother, but Raph takes it the hardest and leo made them all promise to do everything to protect the reader and their son. Just mostly consisting of the turtles living the zombie apocalypse with their future selves and future partners, mainly focusing on reader and leo. Maybe it ends with the turtles going back to the Present and reader tells leo that he will meet his own present day reader, maybe some sort of scene where he recognizes a much younger version and rescues them.

A/N: Thank you so much for the compliment; it means a lot to me! 😊

I love writing horror, so I maaay have gone a bit overboard with the details/set-up for this request 😅 I really hope you enjoy it, anyway!

The Promise He Carries (angst/horror)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Post-apocalyptic future setting, descriptive violence, blood/gore, zombies (including an implied child), grief/loss themes, major character deaths mentioned, attempted mugging, hopeful (for the most part) ending. All characters are aged-up.

One moment, the four turtle brothers are in the lair.

In the next, reality lurches. Colors bleed into nauseating streaks, the world warping, tearing away with a force that feels like being turned inside out. Then, it snaps back like a rubber band, flinging them down hard onto cracked pavement.

Heat presses in, thick and dry, the air heavy with the metallic reek of bloodshed and the cloying sweetness of rot. Towering skyscrapers stand skeletal against the sky, their windows dark. Cars lie overturned, tangled with the weeds reclaiming the broken asphalt.

Worse yet, an unnatural stillness blankets the city.

“Whoa, dude,” Mikey breathes in the oppressive quiet. “This place gives me the major creeps. Feels like a horror movie set gone way too real.” He sniffs the air. “And it smells like—”

“—something died here,” Leo finishes, cutting Mikey off before he can make an ill-timed joke. “A lot of somethings, maybe.” He scans his surroundings, his hands instinctively going to the hilts of his katanas.

Raph’s gaze sweeps over the ruined storefronts, his eyes narrowed. “Just focus, Mikey. Something feels way off.”

Donnie is already scanning the desolate landscape. “The ambient energy signature is highly unusual. Fluctuations are consistent with temporal displacement. Perhaps a tear in reality? Or spatial distortion.” He drops to one knee, examining a chunk of rusted metal. “Judging by the corrosion, it seems this place has been abandoned for a significant amount of time. Logically, this suggests …”

“Suggests what, Donnie?” Leo prompts impatiently.

“Suggests this is another dimension,” Donnie replies, pushing up his goggles as he stands. “A different reality.”

Mikey shivers, despite the heat. “Abandoned? More like apocalypse-ed. Look!” He points a trembling hand towards a toppled newsstand.

Raph goes over to it and picks up the paper. The headline, barely legible beneath layers of grime, sends a wave of unease through him. “Plague Sweeps City,” he reads aloud. “Military Retreats; NYC Declared Lost Cause.”

Mikey takes an involuntary step back, bumping into Leo. “P-plague? Like, zombie plague?!”

“The term is vague. It could refer to a multitude of infectious agents,” Donnie says. “However, given the pervasive signs of rapid decay and the complete absence of observed lifeforms—”

“Not helping!” Mikey practically squeaks.

Leo straightens, his gaze sharp and focused. “Okay. So, we’re in an alternate New York that got hit by some kind of apocalypse plague years ago. Great. Just great.” He points towards the nearest intact-looking building—a sturdy, brick-built library, its windows dark but mostly unbroken. “We need cover and a defensible position. Let’s move. And Donnie—keep scanning for energy signatures, life signs. Anything.”

“Way ahead of you, Leo,” Donnie murmurs.

Raph takes point, sai drawn, muscles coiled tight as he leads them towards the library entrance. The heavy oak doors are scarred but still hang on their hinges. “Locked,” he grunts, testing the handle.

“Allow me,” Donnie steps forward, pulling a device from his belt. He fiddles with the lock mechanism for a moment, before a soft click is heard, too loud in the stillness.

Raph pushes the door open, revealing an interior shrouded in shadow and thick with the musty smell of decaying paper. Dust motes float in the shafts of sunlight piercing through the dirty windows. Books lie scattered across the floor, shelves are overturned, and there’s broken furniture.

“Clear?” Leo whispers, peering into the gloom.

Raph nods slowly, scanning the immediate area. “Looks clear for now.”

They step inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.

“Okay,” Leo says, his voice hushed but firm. “Donnie, see if you can get any systems online, find out more about this ‘plague’. Raph, secure the entrance. Mikey, check the surroundings. Stay close.”

While Donnie moves towards a computer terminal near the main desk and Raph wedges a broken table leg under the door handle, Mikey edges along a row of overturned bookshelves. He runs a hand along the spines, over the thick layer of dust coating them.

“Man,” he says to himself. “Talk about overdue library books …”

Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clatter echoes from deeper within the library stacks.

All four brothers freeze. Raph whirls around, weapons ready. Leo draws a katana while Donnie pauses his work, turning towards the sound with his staff extended. Mikey, meanwhile, flattens himself against a bookshelf, eyes wide. Another sound follows—a wet, dragging noise, accompanied by a low moan.

And it’s getting closer.

Leo raises a hand, fingers splayed. Hold. Raph remains still, sai gripped so tightly his knuckles are practically white. Donnie’s head whips back and forth, his goggles feeding him thermal and motion data. Mikey, still plastered against the bookshelf, doesn’t dare to move.

Then it lurches into view from behind a fallen stack of books.

It was human. Once. Now, its gray skin stretches like brittle parchment over jutting bones, slick with patches of oozing fluid. Twisted into an unnatural angle, one leg drags uselessly, scraping with each movement. Milky, cataract-filmed eyes somehow fix on their general direction.

“Shit,” Mikey breathes, his voice barely a squeak; he’s watched enough horror movies to know what that thing is.

Raph lets out a low growl. “What is that?”

“Biological entity confirmed,” Donnie reports, his voice low. “Minimal life signs, erratic neural pattern. Reads as highly aggressive. A zombie?”

The creature takes a shambling step, then another, its dragging leg catching on a pile of scattered pamphlets. It stumbles, its moan hitching into something almost like a pained snarl, before it rights itself. Its jerky movements pick up speed, launching into an uncoordinated but determined lurch towards them.

“Not exactly the welcoming committee,” Leo mutters grimly. “Alright team, tactical—”

He’s cut off by another moan, echoing from the shadowy depths of the periodical section to their left. And then a third, a wet, rasping cough that sounds disturbingly close, from the nonfiction stacks to their right.

“Multiple hostiles!” Donnie calls out.

The first zombie is almost upon them now, its arms reaching, fingers tipped with cracked, yellowing nails.

“No time for tactics!” Raph bellows, surging forward. “Just bash ‘em—and don’t get bit!” He slams into the zombie’s shoulder, but it barely seems to register the impact as it swipes clumsily with surprising speed. Raph dodges back, aiming for the creature’s limbs, wary of whatever contagion it carries.

Leo moves instantly to Raph’s flank, katana slicing down in a precise arc, severing one of the zombie’s reaching arms at the elbow. It doesn’t scream, just continues its forward momentum, the severed limb falling to the dusty floor with a wet slap.

“Gross! So gross!” Mikey yelps, scrambling backwards towards Donnie near the main desk.

Another shambling figure emerges from the stacks on the right, this one smaller, perhaps once a child, moving with the same jerky gait.

“Donnie, status!” Leo calls out, parrying another clumsy swipe from the first zombie while keeping an eye on Raph and the emerging threats.

“Working on it!” Donnie yells back, tapping furiously at the terminal with one hand while using his staff to fend off the smaller zombie attempting to flank Mikey. “I can’t access anything! The system is ancient and mostly offline!”

The smaller zombie, ignoring the defensive sweep of Donnie’s staff, lunges past it with surprising agility, snapping its rotten teeth inches from Mikey’s retreating ankle.

“Eeep!” Mikey shrieks, scrambling backwards for a moment before adrenaline takes over, whipping out his nunchaku. “Get back, you freaky little ghoul!” He brings his weapon down hard, connecting solidly with the side of the zombie’s head.

It stumbles sideways, its jaw hanging loose and askew, fluid dripping onto the floor—before it recovers with unnatural speed, turning its blank gaze back towards him.

“Whoa, persistent!” Mikey remarks, swinging again—this time aiming for a sharp, decisive blow at the zombie’s temple. The impact sends it crumpling to the ground, finally motionless beside a scattered pile of poetry books.

Mikey pants, staring down at the small, still form. His eyes dart towards Leo and Raph, who are still battling the larger, one-armed zombie, dodging its clumsy but powerful lunges. Then his gaze flicks nervously towards the shadowy aisles, where the dragging sounds and low moans are definitely getting louder. Closer.

“Dudes!” he shouts, his voice tight with panic. “This place is zombie-central! Forget the computers, forget the info! We gotta get the hell outta here! Like, now!”

More shambling figures are lurching into view, their silhouettes framed by the dim light filtering through the tall windows.

“Mikey’s right!” Leo yells, dodging another swipe. He brings his katana up in a swift decapitating stroke. The head thuds onto the floor, rolling before coming to rest against a library card catalog drawer. The body collapses instantly, twitching for a second before falling still. “Donnie, forget the tech! Raph, with me! We need an exit, now!”

Donnie abandons the useless terminal and intercepts another zombie with his staff, knocking its legs out from under it. “Back here!”

“Go, go!” Raph roars, shoving past the downed zombie before barreling towards the corridor Donnie indicated.

Leo follows behind Raph, slicing at any reaching limbs that get too close. Mikey sticks near Donnie, creating a small zone of defense around them as they retreat down the hall. They reach a metal door marked ‘Emergency Exit’. A push bar spans its width.

Raph slams against the bar, and the door flies open with a screech. “Move!” He holds the corridor, watching for the advancing creatures.

Leo shoves Mikey through the doorway, and Donnie follows. “Raph, now!”

Raph disengages, kicking one zombie back into another, sending them flying before diving through the doorway. Leo slams the heavy door shut and looks at the others before darting down the alley, motioning for the others to follow.

“So where to now, fearless leader?” Raph asks as he closely trails his older brother. “Kinda exposed out here.”

“Agreed. Remaining in the open is tactically unsound,” Donnie says. “We still lack essential supplies—clean water, uncontaminated food sources, medical equipment.”

“A place to rest,” Mikey chimes in.

Leo sprints towards a familiar neighborhood. “Then we find what we need and figure out how to get out of this damn nightmare.”

Their search leads them to a promising target: a two-story house, seemingly less disturbed than the surrounding residences. Weeds grow thick and wild in the small front yard, strangling rose bushes that once might have been beautiful. It’s not exactly pristine, but the house might still have supplies worth scavenging.

“Alright, standard sweep,” Leo says, signaling. “Raph, Mikey, take the upper floors. Check every room, quiet as you can. Donnie, you’re with me downstairs. Priority is medical supplies but grab any usable food or water. Alert on any contact, living or … otherwise.” He grips his katanas, ready once more. “Let’s move.”

They enter, silent as a phantom. The air inside is stale, heavy with the scent of dust. Furniture lies askew, cushions slashed, drawers pulled out and emptied. Scavenged before, but perhaps not thoroughly. They move cautiously through the ground floor—before they see a figure crouched low, back towards them, shoving goods inside a backpack.

Human. Alive.

Leo raises a hand, halting Donnie. Then he takes a slow, deliberate step forward, keeping his voice calm. “Hello? We don’t mean any harm. We’re just looking for supplies, too.”

You flinch violently at the sound of his voice and spin around. Your eyes fix on Leo, the color draining instantly from your face. A strangled gasp escapes your lips as you rise, backing away, your hand flying to your mouth. You trip backwards over an ottoman, your gaze locked on Leo like he’s a ghost risen from the grave.

He might as well be.

“Whoa, hey, easy!” Leo says, holding his hands up placatingly. “We’re different, yeah. But we’re the good guys.” He assumes, like always, that the shock stems from their mutated forms.

“No …” You shake your head frantically, tears welling, blurring your vision. “No, i-it can’t be … Leo?” The name is a broken sob.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps pound on the staircase. “Are you alright? Did you find something?”

A figure appears at the bottom of the stairs—and all four present-day brothers freeze.

He’s a turtle. Raphael.

But older, broader, scarred. Deep lines carve paths around his eyes and mouth. Scars crisscross his visible skin. He wears rugged, patched leather and canvas gear—but most startlingly, his left arm is gone, replaced with a crude but functional-looking metal prosthetic.

His gaze snaps from you, now huddled on the floor, to the turtles standing before him. Recognition flickers, then ignites into stunned disbelief, his jaw dropping. He stares—first at Leo. Donnie. Then at the younger version of himself and Mikey. His mind struggles to process the impossible sight.

“What … what in the goddamn hell?” Future Raph murmurs, incredulous, his voice deeper than his counterpart. He then steps protectively in front of you, using his formidable frame to block the others, his glare fixed on them. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get here?”

“We … we got transported,” Donnie stammers, adjusting his glasses nervously. “We were in our lair, and then there was this energy surge. It seems we’ve ended up in another dimension.”

Future Raph lets out a short, harsh laugh devoid of humor. “Dimension?” He shakes his head, a grim, pitying look entering his eyes. “You ain’t in some other dimension. This is home. Or what’s left of it after the world went to shit. You’re in the future. Your future.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of the revelation. Their future—this is what awaits them?

Future Raph sighs, the fight draining out of him. “Alright. Come on, all of you. We’re heading back to base. Looks like we got a hell of a lot to talk about.” He turns back to you, his voice softening fractionally. “You okay?”

You nod mutely, still unable to tear your gaze from Leo. Future Raph offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him help you up.

“This way,” Future Raph says, nodding towards the back door of the house. “Streets are quieter back here, usually.” He leads the way, moving with a practiced efficiency that speaks of years navigating this broken world.

You follow close behind him, still trembling slightly. Your gaze keeps flickering back to Leo, who walks near the rear of the group, his expression a mixture of confusion and determination. Every time your eyes meet his, a fresh wave of shock washes over you.

It’s him, but … not him. Younger. So much younger.

The present turtles trail Future Raph. Present Raph watches his older self intently, taking in the missing arm, the scars, the grim set of his jaw. Donnie scans their surroundings while Mikey stays close to Donnie, his youthful energy completely extinguished.

“So,” Leo starts, his voice low, addressing Future Raph’s broad back. “The future, huh? How… how far?”

“Long enough for things to go sideways and stay there.” Future Raph glances back briefly, his expression unreadable. “About fifteen years.”

You emerge into a narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters and rusted fire escapes. Future Raph moves quickly, checking corners before waving everyone on. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the scuttling of unseen things in the shadows and the distant, mournful cry of the wind whistling through broken skyscrapers.

“Where are the others?” Mikey asks quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “Splinter? April? Casey?”

Future Raph’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t turn around this time. “Some made it. Some didn’t.” His voice is flat, which somehow makes the words hit harder. “We talk when we get inside. Too exposed out here.”

He leads you through a labyrinth of backstreets and crumbling alleyways, avoiding the wider, more open avenues. You pass skeletal remains of cars, graffiti from the old world, and faded posters. Once, a low moan echoes from a nearby building, causing everyone except Future Raph to freeze, weapons instantly ready.

Future Raph just puts a hand up, listens for a second, then shakes his head. “Moving away. Keep going.”

Eventually, you reach your destination. It’s a fortified section of the city, reminiscent of old apocalypse zombie fiction. High walls, constructed from welded scrap metal, shipping containers, and reinforced concrete encircle several blocks. Armed lookouts patrol makeshift walkways.

And inside, a semblance of a community survives.

Future Raph leads everyone into the command center, a converted warehouse. There, they meet the others.

Future Mikey is leaning against a wall, gently bouncing a tiny, swaddled infant in his arms. He looks older, the perpetual grin replaced by a more reserved, watchful expression. Though a genuine softness illuminates his face as he gazes at the baby. A woman with tired lines around her eyes but a warm smile stands beside him: his wife, Sarah.

Future Mikey’s in charge of the community’s gardens and farms, which are crucial for survival. But his worn combat gear speaks of his other role as a protector. Seeing his younger self, his eyes widen in disbelief, then fill with a profound sadness. He just shakes his head slowly.

In a cordoned-off section brightly lit by LED strips, Future Donnie meticulously cleans a wound on a survivor’s arm in the makeshift infirmary. He’s thinner and moves with an efficient, almost detached professionalism. His tech is a marvel of apocalypse engineering: salvaged computers, solar panels, jury-rigged communication arrays monitoring the perimeter and vital systems.

A quiet girl, around ten years old, sits nearby, drawing: his adopted daughter, Maya. Future Donnie explains that his wife, a fellow scientist he met after the outbreak, died during a supply run two years ago. Rumors suggest a ‘situationship’ with one of the other medics named Elena. Seeing his younger self, a flicker of his old curiosity sparks in Future Donnie’s eyes. But knowing what’s in store for his counterpart quickly overshadows it.

Future Raph puts a hand on the shoulder of a tough-looking woman with short-cropped hair and a kind smile. “This is Cara,” he introduces gruffly, but with underlying affection. “My girlfriend. Two years now.”

Cara offers a curt nod, her expression guarded but not unfriendly. They share a look, a silent communication honed by hardship and nightly watches on the wall.

Then Future Raph gestures towards you. You stand nearby, your four-year-old son now clinging tightly to your leg. He stares curiously at the newcomers—especially Leo.

“This,” Future Raph says, his voice thick with emotion. “This is—was … Leo’s wife. And their son.”

The present turtles reel. Air punches out of Leo’s lungs. He stares at you, then at the boy. His wife? His son?!

“Was?” Present Leo forces the word out, his throat tight.

Future Raph nods slowly, his gaze distant, lost in a painful memory. “Leo … our Leo. He didn’t make it. Died about six months back, protecting his wife and Leon during a breach on the west wall. He went down covering their retreat.” His gaze fixes on Present Leo. “He made us promise—all of us. To protect them. Keep them safe, no matter the cost.”

The grief emanating from the older turtles is palpable. Future Raph seems to carry it the heaviest and most visibly, his usual anger tempered into a deep sorrow.

The younger brothers learn about Splinter, too. How he fell fighting a zombified Shredder after the Foot Clan’s base was overrun in the early days. He took the monster with him, but not before receiving a final, fatal bite that forced their older counterparts to put him out of his misery before he turned.

As for Casey and April, they died years apart. Casey—a decade ago during a breach similar to Future Leo. And April, just shy of five years ago, during a supply run gone wrong alongside Future Donnie’s wife.

With all this information now known, the present-day brothers are determined to find a way back home—and not let their own world turn down this horrific path.

Life settles into a surreal, strange routine.

The present turtles integrate cautiously into the community, learning the brutal ropes of survival in this future. Present Raph joins Future Raph and Cara on foraging runs, learning how to move silently through zombie territory. Present Donnie spends hours with Future Donnie, working to figure out a way back home. Present Mikey works alongside Future Mikey in the gardens, finding a strange comfort in the repetitiveness of cultivation.

Present Leo, on the other hand, walks a tightrope of conflicting emotions.

Leon instinctively gravitates toward him—the one who looks, sounds, and moves so much like the father he barely remembers. He even starts calling Present Leo ‘Daddy.’ Each utterance is a fresh wound for you, and a confusing jolt for Leo.

Present Leo sees the life he could have had, the love he could have shared, shattered by this terrible future. He feels the weight of his future self’s promise; it manifests as an intense, almost overwhelming urge to protect you and the boy. He tries to be there for Leon—playing with him, answering his innocent questions about the ‘before.’ All while navigating the minefield of your grief and his own tangled emotions.

You struggle, caught between the sharp, persistent ache of grief and the presence of a younger version of the man you loved. You find yourself watching him—the way he moves, the cadence of his voice. So familiar, yet so different. But he doesn’t have the weight, the scars, the shared history.

And you sometimes slip, treating him like your Leo. Asking him about things he couldn’t possibly know, catching yourself starting to share a private joke. A memory. Or simply reaching out to touch his arm in a familiar way—before pulling back sharply, the reality that this isn’t him crashing down anew, as if it happened just yesterday.

Your grief is a constant, raw torment.

Weeks turn into a month. Then nearly two.

Future Donnie, working tirelessly amidst his medical duties, pores over the temporal data logged by Present Donnie during their arrival. After cross-referencing reading and residual chronal signatures, they believe they’ve isolated the specific energy frequency. And found a way to replicate the event by creating a controlled, localized burst.

Finally, they can return home.

The future turtles gather with their young selves near the Donnies’ temporal rig. Future Raph claps a heavy hand on Present Raph’s shoulder.

“Keep your head on straight, you hear me?” he advises. “Protect your brothers. Especially him.” He nods towards Present Leo. “Don’t let him be reckless.”

Present Raph can’t help but chuckle softly. “Isn’t that my job—the reckless part?”

Future Raph playfully smacks his head, grinning. “Smartass.”

Future Mikey offers Present Mikey a small, genuine smile. “Find your sunshine, kid. Even when it gets dark. Mine”—he glances towards where Sarah holds their baby, “is worth fighting for.”

Future Donnie adjusts his glasses, meeting his younger counterpart’s gaze. “Knowledge is power, but wisdom is knowing how and when to use it. Don’t let the logic blind you to what matters.” He glances towards Maya, who gives Present Donnie a small wave. “Protect what’s important.”

Finally, Present Leo stands before you. Leon reaches out, holding his hand, and Leo lets him one last time. Tears track silently down your face.

“He loved you all so much,” you say, meaning his future self, though your gaze remains fixed on Present Leo. “He never stopped fighting. For us. For this place.” You crouch in front of your son. “Say bye-bye, sweetie.”

Leon looks up at Present Leo, his small face serious. “Bye, Daddy. Be safe.”

The words twist in Leo’s chest. He kneels too, meeting the boy’s eyes. “You too, little man. Stay strong and listen to your mom.” He stands, his gaze finding yours.

You place a hand on his arm. “Leo,” you say. “When you get back, you’re going to meet her. Me. I won’t—she won’t know what you’ll mean to her, what she’ll mean to you. But you’ll find her. Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe.” You pause, before continuing, “Don’t let this happen.”

Leo can only nod, his throat thick with unshed tears.

Once the present turtles are near the pseudo-time machine, Future Donnie adjusts a few things before throwing the final switch. The energy field crackles before reality begins to blur and warm around them. The perpetual stench of decay recedes, replaced by the familiar damp smell of the sewers as they find their footing on concrete.

They’re back. Disoriented, shaken.

And fundamentally changed by the knowledge they now hold from the future they witnessed.

Weeks pass.

Training sessions are more intense. Leo feels the change most acutely. He pushes himself the hardest, the memories of you grieving and Leon’s trusting eyes burned into his mind. He carries the weight of his older counterpart’s sacrifice. The burden of the promise made by his future brothers.

One rainy evening, Leo moves across the rooftops near April’s apartment building. As he patrols, he hears a commotion in the alley below. Two rough-looking men have cornered someone against the brick wall, demanding their bag.

“Just give it to us, and nobody gets hurt!” one snarls, brandishing a switchblade.

Leo doesn’t hesitate. He drops down from the fire escape above, landing almost silently on the wet pavement behind them. “Leave her alone.”

The thugs whirl around, startled by his sudden appearance. The one with the knife lunges. Leo moves with blinding speed, disarming them with practiced ease, sending the weapon clattering harmlessly away. A well-aimed kicked to the man’s chest has him sprawling against the dumpster.

The other sees the writing on the wall and runs away into the night, his partner in crime joining him a few beats later once he’s gathered his bearings—and picked his pride up from the grimy alleyway ground.

Leo turns his attention to the person they were harassing.

You.

Younger, perhaps. Face streaked with rain, clutching a messenger bag protectively. Your eyes are wide, reflecting the dim alley lights. Fear lingers, but there’s also a spark of defiant anger under the surface.

You haven’t seen the end of the world yet. The deep lines of grief haven’t etched themselves around your eyes. You don’t know him.

You stare up at the towering mutant turtle, water dripping from his shell, mouth slightly open in stunned silence. Finally, you find your voice, though a little shaky. “Uh … wow. Thank you.”

Leo looks at you, really looks at you. The woman his future self loved and died for. The mother of their child.

His promise for the future starts now.

“No problem,” he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with an emotion you can’t possibly understand. Not yet, anyway. “Just … be careful out here. This city can be dangerous.”

He offers a small, fleeting smile, imbued with a sadness that seems out of place. Then, with the same impossible silence he arrived with, he turns and melts back into the shadows of the fire escape, rappelling upwards and disappearing onto the rooftops.

You stand alone in the rain, staring after him, heart pounding, wondering about the melancholy you saw in the eyes of the giant turtle who just saved your life. A strange feeling settles over you, a sense that something significant just happened.

Though you couldn’t possibly guess what.

[b0nkedmehead]

I always see people make certain dp characters [ie: Danny's parents, val, giw] wanna get rid of phantom from danny like an exorcism

Even tho they're the same person right

But I always think of that ep where danny went through that ghost spliter, and you see Phantom and danny as two separate beings [this would've been so cool to explore btw]

Before they quickly went back lol

But what if the giw or someone actually succeeded in splitting them up. I wanna see the ramifications that would have.

Would Danny's "human form" slowly deteriorate from the injuries he sustained from the portal? Would it be instant or would it happen slowly.

Everyone thinks yay! No more halfa hes cured yippee 🕺until Danny looks more and more worn down, has phantom pains, can't sleep, nightmares, and slowly slowly his injuries start killing him and everyone starts noticing.

And then they realize danny can't live without phantom. That the people trying to save him from phantom inevitably ended up killing him again.

Also on the flip side how would this affect phantom like would he just fade away since his body technically isn't dead yet. Would he be caught up in some weird in-between 🤔

Many thoughts many thoughts

I'd also love to hear anyone else's thoughts on this

[doslimones]

Lettsss gooooooooo!!!!!!! YESSSSS

Hi, idk if someone remembers my pirates AU. I just want to say that I'm actually working on it. Raph, Mikcey, Splinter and April are coming soon :)

[quartergremlin]

The panel where spliter picks up a baby turtle and straight up squints at the genital area made me break out into laughter. Isnt that what people do to new kittens?! Thats not usually how someone looks at a baby!

and the kids are p okay with being manhandled like that, so it's probably fine?

[dianagj-art]

I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION OH SI WINDEROUS DIANAGJ-ART

what kind of coffee would One drink, if any? And if not, what kinda tea?

That boy's caffeine intake is very low or zero, he doesn't really drink coffee, Draxum doesn't let him plus it raises his energy levels through the roof

As of now, he doesn't really like tea, he drinks it sometimes but very rarely with Draxum but doesn't enjoy it. Later when he's living with his brothers he'll find out he just didn't like the way Draxum made tea, but he likes it when Spliter does it

What kind of tea? I have no idea, I'm not really a tea person so idk much about it

[uniasus]

Chapter 2 of Spliter is, surprise! Damain's POV. Or not a surprise to some of you, I imagine.

------

“Daniel mentioned a medical condition.” Tim crosses his arms, frowning at the stone floor. “Twice tonight while talking to me he clutched his chest. I assumed a form of cardiomyopathy, but if he was actually fighting for control all night…”

“We never noticed,” Dick jumps in. “We all thought he was interesting and worth watching, sure, but not because of that. He kept stiffening at random times, had a hard time keeping a conversation –“

“Which could have been signs of fighting for control –“

“That’s not why I found him interesting,” Jason cuts in. “The Pits… liked him.”

The family goes quiet.

“The Pits can like something?” Barbara asks via the computer.

“I didn’t think they would, they seem to hate everything. But did you see his, what are we calling it, ghost form? His eyes were Pit green.”

“No,” Damian says. “They were close, but the shade was off. He also never seemed out of control the few minutes I was with him. Danyal had a mission and got it done.”

He’d also recognized Damian. Maybe. On a subconsious level. Had this Masters messed with his memory?

“He lost control at the end though,” Steph pointed out.

“So Masters gives him some freedom,” Tim says. “but what, always reminds the kid that it’s a luxury? That he can take it away any moment?”

The cave goes silent. Damian feels sick to his stomach.

The League had always been about control. Control your sword, control your body. School your expressions and hold your tongue. Bow to Grandfather, and give up your life for the mission. The League oversaw every part of Damian’s life when he was younger, but he always had control over his own limbs.

Anki. He fists his hands.

It’s possible Daniel Fenton is not Danyal al Ghul, of course, but Damian thinks they’re one and the same. Wants them to be the same.

[nohara-rin-dot-mp3]

this happens because rin misinterpretation goes both ways. btw.

rin fact: you can tell her things that are objectively true. but watch out.

[heartfullofleeches]

You mentioned in a headcanon post about how Tobi would knock reader out with their voice when they did something they didnt like, could you make an example scenario 4 us ? :0

"No."

There are many things Tobi can protect you from. Ghosts and demons, spiteful commentors and people who wouldn't take no for an answer were forces they could easily handle as simply as flicking off a light switch. Ancient, decrepit houses - as hard as they may try, weren't always included in that list.

As per usual - Tobi left to explore the house you'd picked out for your next stream couple days prior to the stream to rid the place of any hostile spirits or other elements that may bring you harm. It was pretty much habitual for them scout every location, and helped relived some of their stress towards leaving you to your own devices in what was essential the unknown.

The house was far worse off inside that the pictures you had showed them conveyed. A riverside lodge annihilated by a enraged storm and the overflooding waters from the river bank. The young couple who owned the home tragically drowned after leaving the sun roof open the night prior and failing to wake up before it was too late. The walls sagged with age and decades of water weight, and the warped, rotting floors could barely handle Tobi's lanky stature and size.

Normally, they'd just install some temporary support planks and forbid you from venturing to the top floor or basement, but exploring deeper they came to the conclusion this site was far too dangerous for you to step a single foot inside.

Heading towards the stairway to the top floor, there was a large gap right between where the first step and the bottom floor met. It was narrow enough to where they could just step over - but Tobi noticed something right as they peered casually into the hole. A piece of fabric stuck to the spliters of the wood. It was in too good a condition to be something from the incident, but that's not what made Tobi pause.

The scrap of cloth matched perfectly to a jacket you had just released - the same jacket you were throwing on now.

"Aw, come on, Tobi - this could be our big break!"

Their fingers fly to fast across their phone screen for your eyes to keep up.

"Too dangerous."

Laughing, you zip up your jacket as you reach for your keys. "You always say that. If you're scared, you can wait in the car and I'll cut the stream short. I did okay on my own before you came around."

Grabbing the tail end of your jacket, Tobi's mind rushes back to the second sight they saw in that hole. The bloated corpses of one of your followers - staring straight up at him. They couldn't even remember what their face looked like. All they saw was yours. It was always yours.

Tobi grabs your wrist, squeezing the ball of your hand until you're forced to lose your grip on your keys. Stay. Don't go. Your adventurous spirit was one of the endless things they loved about you and they'd never take that away - but if you left their sight for a single second then-

"No......"

Pressure builds behind your eyes. You pres a hand to your temple, shaking off the brief wave of nausea "Ugh.. Tobi... I'll be okay, I promise. I got a little headache now, so I didn't won't be out long. "

No.... Flashes of your face in that horrible state cloud their already fogged mind- eyes glossy, skin pale and so, so cold. A far cry from the life and warmth you gave off now. It would only take one second. One second for you to get hurt. One second for them to lose you. They can't go back to life without you. They can't be that empty shell rotting away in an equally decaying home. They can't - they won't. You can't leave them.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME!"

It all happens so fast. Your brain throbs. Without utter a single word, you place your fingers your lips - red being all you see. Shaking, you look up at your cameraman as your jaw goes slack.

"To-"

Your eyes glaze over, trembling legs unable to support the remaining weight of your body as you fall. Tobi dives to the floor, catching you in their arms before your unceremoniously landing. Your head almost hits the floor before their arms shoot out to catch you. He supports it and your neck on his shoulder, unzipping your jacket with the same tremors you had before your fall. Tobi removes their hat and places their ear to your chest.

One beat. Two-

You're still alive. Deep down they knew, but for the sake of their aching heart they had to make sure. Tobi carefully zips your jacket back up and once they do - they begin to cry. If your comatose state was good for one thing it was leaving you in the dark, unharmed by their wails and pleads.

"sorry... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. Please - please don't leave me..Don't leave me."

Tobi slowly regains their composure. They wipe the blood from your nose, and their thick tears from your face as they stand. Tobi carries you to your bedroom and places you in bed. They clear your search history of anything related to the cabin and burn the notes along it. They reserve a table at your favorite restaurant for tomorrow, praying you'll wake up before the time comes. As you rest they rehearse their lines for when you wake - thankful you'll never hear the break in their voice when they lie.