turtletimewriting · 4 months ago
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2012 meets 2018
Summary: Mikey through a portal mishap is stuck in the 2012 series. Not a big deal, but he’s noticed that they’re all so serious. Not nearly as huggy and close as him and his brothers. Welp, time to fix that!
_._._
Things were so different here. Which makes sense. Like duh, it was his brothers from another universe. But it was weird. It was weird to see a Leo who spent all his time hidden away in the dojo meditating. Raph who spent all his free time reading comics and judging his brothers. Donnie... well actually Donnie was largely the same as his Donnie, spending a lot of time being the mad scientist he is. This version of himself was always doing his own thing. 
The only times they were together were when they were patrolling or when they were watching tv in the night. But otherwise, everyone was busy doing their own thing. Being serious and nothing like his own touchy feely family.
And of course, he was going to fix this!
Somehow...
Admittedly, he had no idea how he was going to. But he was taking it one step at a time. First he had been trying to get involved in all their hobbies. Right now he was sitting with Leo watching some show he liked called Space Heroes. It was... alright? Probably didn’t help that he was in the middle of a later season and Leo had gotten too lost in the sauce to remember to speak at a normal pace when recapping the show.
He was still rambling furiously, his hands vibrating violently in front of him. His Leo didn’t do any of this but he recognised all of this from Donnie so he found himself smiling so wide at how obviously happy Leo was. The happiness radiating from him. Sitting crossed legged together enjoying a show.
He so badly wished he could see them all this aggressively cheerful and happy. Leo burst into a huge smile as the Space Captain slapped his... co-captain? Okay a little weird but whatever makes him happy. Mikey wanted so badly to see this Leo finally let go and be fully silly and happy. 
His own Leo was so much more laidback and always willing to dive head first into the chaos. 
At that thought, a lightbulb went off in his head. 
His bent knee was pointed straight at him and that was his Leo’s like ultimate weakness. Leo’s legs were his worst spot, although he was definitely a walking tickle spot to be fair. Every part of his leg were very ticklish, his calves, the back of his knees, knees in general and don’t even think about his thighs or he’ll explode.
While he was distracted, he placed his scrunched up fingers right on his knee and then slowly drew his hands out in a slow crawling tickle across his bent knee.
“This is like their thing. So typi-AAAH!” Leo leapt like three feet in the air. He looked at him with sheer bewilderment and betrayal. “What was that!”
“Uhh... me tickling you?”
“No, I know that. Like... what kind of technique was that?” Leo laughed.
“Oh that!” Mikey spread out his fingers again on his kneecap to demonstrate, sending a violent jolt and slapping a hand over his giggles, “This drives my Leonardo insane! We have to pin his leg down so we can do it over and over again.”
He didn’t realise he was demonstrating over and over again until Leo was slapping the sofa arm. “Pfftahaha HAH! Hehe, o-okay. Okay okay okay! Hah! I get it!” He wiggled his knee but never withdrew his leg.
“Haha, no! C’mon! We can consider it a science experiment!” Mikey clapped his hands as he inched forward into his space, his plan all coming together. “Let’s see if you have the same tickle spots as my Leo!”
He pushed him down to lay on the sofa, had to make him comfortable before wrecking him to tears! Jumping up to his stomach to pin him down, he faced his legs. Obviously any Leonardo must have the most ticklish legs in existence, right?
“Wait! What! No, we don’t have to do this!”
“Oh yes we do!” Mikey cracked his fingers before he immediately grabbed his knees and started squeezing. 
Leo jolted up but his own weight kept him pinned. “HAH! Wahait! WAHAIT! HA! Ahahahaha!” He drummed his feet violently.
“Aww, that’s not as much laughter as I was expecting,” Mikey whined. His Leo would already be driven to tears by this. Yet this Leo was just laughing. Not even that hard! Huh, that’s... weird. Ugh, he was just being stupid. Of course this Leo was different, he was different in a million ways from his Leo. They weren’t even the same species! He needed to get over himself. Try to enjoy the silly moment. He spidered his fingers over his knees again. 
“Ihi Ah! Ah! Wait! Hahaha! Ah! I didn’t even know my knees were ticklish!” Leo gasped.
That made him stop. “What!” Mikey gasped himself.
“Who goes for the knees when tickling someone!” Leo gasped amongst his giggles.
“Uh me!” Mikey gasped as he squeezed his knee again, sending Leo tumbling back down from his sass, “I can go for the knees. Since I have a brother who dies if you go for the knees!”
“Hahahaha! Wehell that’s hahaha dumb!” Leo snarked, bucking up to try and kick him off. Which almost worked. Mikey had to put an end to that. 
But now he felt like he was in uncharted territory. It makes sense, he thought. This Leo did act entirely differently so of course he’d have different spots. He looked him over passively at where to go next. 
Suddenly he snapped forward and started scribbling over his plastron. His scutes lay in a different layout than Leo’s, and also unlike his Leo, he immediately burst into frantic bright laughter. “WAHAHAHAIT! WAIT WAIT HAHAHAHAHAHA!” 
Mikey smiled manically. “Now there’s some good laughter! Is that a good spot, huh? Is that an extra ticklish spot? Does it tickle tickle tickle you!” 
Mikey felt all his weirdness completely disappear though as Leo slapped a hand over his face as he slowly turned bright red. 
“You can blush! That’s amazing! Look at how red you are!” Mikey cooed. 
“HAHA SHUUHUUHU SHUSH! HAHAHHAHAHAAHAA! STAHAP TALKING!” Leo kicked out frantically as he slowly turned more and more red. 
“Aww you’re so adorable!” Mikey exclaimed as he traced around his scutes which sent Leo tumbling down even more frantic laughter. His head tipped back as he was lost to the sensation. “But is this where you’re most ticklish? Oooor is there another spot?”
The way he reacted clearly meant he was close though. Mikey used the tracing to explore his whole torso.
“NO! NO! HAHAHAHAA! HA! HA! HA! NO!” Leo suddenly gasped as he fingers trailed from his stomach to his sides. 
Mikey grinned evilly. “Oh you shouldn’t have said that!” 
Not one to waste time, he immediately started pinching and scribbling over his sides. It was really fun to tickle actually! The smooth shell of his sides was fun to slide his fingers against and the polished smooth texture made him want to keep tickling and tickling. 
“Oh this is too much fun! I’ve gotta keep tickling you! I can’t stop tickling you!” 
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!” Leo was totally lost to the sensation and Mikey knew it was time to let up. He really didn’t want to kill him or something. 
Well okay, maybe one last tickle.
As he harshly scrubbed against his sides and Leo jolted up, he met him halfway with a raspberry pressed in the middle of his plastron. 
Leo’s laughter went silent until Mikey sat back up and gentle climbed off of him. 
“Huh, you and my Leo have completely different tickle spots,” He grinned but that smile kept growing when Leo kept laughing. 
“Hahahaa... ha... heh... whaht was thahaha hahaha... about!” Leo exclaimed. Setting off more of his laughter as he remembered and brought up the tickling.
“Dunno!” He chirped back, giggling himself too, “For the funsies.” 
“Nahat fun! Ha! Hahahahaa!”
“You can stop laughing,” Mikey giggled. The laughter catching on. Leo had yet to even sit up yet and seemed totally lost in his own unending giggles.
A snort ripped through the room and properly set off Mikey’s laughter. 
“Dude, stop laughing! I’m not tickling you!”
“Dohon’t SAY THE WORD! Hahahaha! HAH! Heheheee...”
Wholeheartedly, Mikey thought that would be stuck in the cycle of making each other laugh if it wasn’t for this world’s Raph walking in. 
“Okay, who got Leo tickle drunk?”
“Tickle drunk?” Mikey asked incredulously. 
“STAHAP SAHAYING THE WORD HEHEHEEEE!” Leo kicked out his feet again from the tiny ball he was curling into.
Raph sauntered over with such a fond smile and casually leaned an arm on the back of the sofa. “Yeah, if anyone... uh t-words Leo then he can’t stop thinking about it which means he can picture the sensation. Meaning! He can’t stop giggling or feeling like he still being attacked.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Mikey lit up like christmas had come early, “Can you not say the word tickle?”
The instant he said it, Leo snorted as he frantically tried rubbing away at his sides. Raph looked on with a mischevious smirk. “Oh I can definitely say the word tickle,” He deliberately spoke clearly and sounded out each syllable in the word, much to Leo’s giggly dismay, “it’s just that it takes a while for Leo to stop being tickle drunk, especially if everyone keeps mentioning it.”
Mikey finally made eye contact with Leo as he peered up at him through the tiny ball he curled into. And as subtle as a ninja, he flicked his eyes back to Raph quickly. Thankfully, Leo seemed to grasp his message. “Well, you know what would probably help?” Mikey cued up.
“What?” Raph asked genuinely.
“To tickle someone else!” He roared before grabbing Raph and somersaulting him on to the sofa, where Leo immediately grabbed hold oh him and dug away at his pits.
Well it wouldn’t be fair to just test the tickle spots of one of their alternative universe selves.
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crispyliza · 5 months ago
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Fanfiction in the late 2000s-early 2010s was wild bc you'd find a beautifully written story with the most compelling heart-wrenching plot you've ever seen and the author's note would be like:
Author with a username like ~SasukesWaifuxD~ : Ohayo gozaimasu! ↖(^▽^)↗, I'm sowwy it took me so long to update (๑•́_•̀๑)
tsundere twink from their fic : It was about damn time you idiot (눈‸눈)
~SasukesWaifuxD~ : Hey now! It's not my fault the plot bunnies kept wunning away fwom me (╥﹏╥)
tsundere twink: W-watever, it's not like I missed you or anything (💢,,>﹏<,,) b-baka!
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grey-viridian · 2 months ago
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Leonardo
I finished this comic about a month ago but couldn't bring myself to post it. It started as a simple illustration and then I just kept adding more and more and at some point I had to stop myself and cut the story short. I'm still not entirely satisfied with the result but... well. I like it. That's enough.
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taffycandyqt · 7 months ago
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This is what Tumblr feels like to me.
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tangledinink · 3 months ago
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welcome back to our program! and welcome to arc two.
✩ the gemini ✩ [ start ] [ prev ] [ next ]
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leisi-lilacdreams · 1 year ago
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i wonder if @somerandomdudelmao will touch upon the unique connection the donnies have with the kraang? hehehe
cass, think of the angst potential 🙏
i didn't mean to continue with the "twin senses active across space and time" bit, but i thought with the leos in the future, this would be a good chance for the donnies to talk and bond, but it gets derailed when they compared their kraang encounters and everyone's screaming and no one's happy
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lactoseintolerentswag · 1 year ago
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Big Mama's Dialogue
I've heard a few people lament on how Big Mama is difficult to write because of how she speaks, so I thought I'd share my tips and tricks.
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I start out by writing what I intend for her to say without the flowery language added on. For example:
"I look nice in the new jacket I bought."
Doesn't sound like Big Mama at all, but it'll help you have a place to start so you don't have to be intimidated by scrolling through thesaurus.
Now, Big M has a tendency to do the following:
Use outdated American slang (anywhere from the 1920's to the 60's)
Apply alliterations (using the same letter at the beginning of a word to the adjacent/close word)
Use adverbs, so describing words with the end suffix -ly (i.e. softly, mysteriously, quickly)
Sprinkle in a few made-up words
So let's take the base sentence I provided an shape it to Big M's standards.
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Resources for American slang:
Instead of word vomiting out all the outdated American slang I know, I'm going to link some resources/websites you all can look at and come back to. She mostly uses 20's slang, so the links are centered around that.
1920's slang PDF, alphabetically organized!!!
List of slang phrases originating from the 1920's to the 2010's
Short list of slang flapper's from the 1920's used
So let's edit our base sentence a little, now it's:
"This new jacket I bought is the cat's meow."
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Adding the next layer:
I did mention that Big Mama tended to use both alliterations and adverbs in copious amounts, but don't feel pressured to use both at once in a sentence. If it fits, it fits. If it doesn't, some trimming might be useful. This is why having a base sentence is important, so the intention behind the dialogue isn't lost under all the additions you're adding. So with that in mind, I'm going to alter our example:
"This new jazzy jacket I just bought is the cat's meow."
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The last part:
I save the "fake words" part for last, because beginning with them can make your sentences clunky or not make sense. This part really relies on your personal touch or the context and tone of the situation at hand. The example I gave make Big Mama sound like she's preening about her looks, so I'm going to lean into that.
"This newsie-woozie jazzy jackety I just bought is the cat's meow! Grr!"
And for comparison, here's where we started.
"I look nice in the new jacket I bought."
And well, that's it!!! Hope it was helpful to those that needed it!!!
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sweeneydino · 5 months ago
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2012 spreading the trauma.
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theelvishfiddler · 1 year ago
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Story Select
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theloveinc · 7 months ago
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mating press is so objectively ugly ... embarrassing
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pinetreevillain · 1 year ago
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Confrontation Part 2
The girls are fightiiiiiing
Previous, next
Masterpost
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turtletimewriting · 11 months ago
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Very Late Tickletober Day 3: Cuddles
Summary: A turtle pile going to chaos due to some restless fingers.
Note: Woop, woop, this is the sound of the tickle fic warning alarm, woop, woop. You have been warned.
._._.
Leo had never felt more at peace than at this very moment. He was in that awkward stage between asleep and awake but it felt peaceful and sweet. Awareness crept in but he felt no urge to open his eyes. He was warm and cozy with someone's legs thrown over his shell. His arms were curled tight around someone. The weight from his brothers making him feel hidden and cozy.
And a tingling sensation creeping along his palm.
He wiped his palm on whoever's chest it was resting on. It wasn't anything to worry about, just a wayward itch.
A minute passed until it came back.
A ticklish sensation dancing across his palm. Gently caressing along his palm and tracing the lines of his hand with the utmost care. He flicked his wrist.
He tried to settle into an even more comfortable position. This time the listless tickle didn't come back for a solid couple of minutes.
But this time it came back on the back of his hand. Leo truly didn't think he was ticklish on the back of his hand but the tiny tickle was wearing him down. It was a delicate tracing touch from someone's finger that swirled and twirled across his skin like a dancer. A smile naturally curled on to his face.
It really tickled.
He tried to hold still to see if whoever was doing this would stop but the sensations all built on top of each other. Each meandering loop of the finger kept layering the tickles over each other.
Normally Leo wouldn't really laugh from hand tickles. he would flinch and flap around but not really laugh.
But this time he could feel the giggles starting to escape.
"Whoever hehe that is stahahap!" Leo finally snapped, knocking his hand into someone's shell like he could swat away the feeling.
But at the same time he spoke, someone else also snapped, "Mikey, stop moving your feheheet!"
Leo now opened his eyes and was greeted with Mikey smiling embarrassingly with a blush. "Sorry guys. I'm getting a little restless."
Now he was looking, he could see that Mikey had been the one tracing his hand and also was using his foot to trace along Donnie's foot.
And despite his sheepish smile, Mikey was still tickling away at Donnie's foot and his finger was still poised over his hand. "If you still want cuddles then you'll have to deal with the tickles!" Mikey chirped happily.
"Mihihihikey!" Donnie kicked out his foot but continued to lay there with his eyes closed.
The finger returned to his palm but this time, Mikey had grabbed his wrist and keeping his hand pinned. It startled a snorty laugh from him. "Mikey!"
"Mikey, what have we talked about when it comes to tickling your serious boring brothers?" Raph's gruff sleepy voice cut through the quiet giggles filling the room.
"No?" Mikey asked, cutely turning his head to the side as if he was just a cute innocent angel.
"That if you're gonna tickle them then invite me too!" Raph smirked cockily but his voice was still whispered and sleepy.
Not that Leo felt that anymore. Any quiet sleepiness was ripped away the second he felt Raph's hand grab his knee and start squeezing.
"HAHAHA! Rahahaph!" Leo lurched up but the weight of all his brothers kept him down. He barely raised his leg.
"Tag team, bro!" Mikey grinned wildly as he immediately went to start tickling away under Leo's chin.
His and Donnie's quiet muffled giggles immediately transforming into loud unabashed laughter.
Yet it was worth noting that none of them really moved from the turtle pile.
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craacked-splatters · 1 month ago
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More silly doods for @pezhead 's displacement au!! :))
I wanted to fit the rest in here but they're still not finished so eh another day ig
Read it right here if u want!
(also I'm aware Dee had a hoodie on during the restaurant scene but I got 2 sad at the thought of erasing all that hard work just 2 slap a hoodie on there😭 sorry)
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cupcakeslushie · 2 months ago
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First || Prev || …
Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!
Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.
They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.
One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.
The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.
So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.
Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.
Amnesia.
So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.
He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…
Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.
An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.
Everything was normal, physically.
That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.
Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.
A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.
They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.
Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.
But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.
Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.
The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.
Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.
No; leaving him alone was not an option.
Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.
Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.
Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.
While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.
Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.
“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”
“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”
“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”
“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”
“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”
“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”
“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”
“BOYS!”
Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.
“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.
“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”
“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.
Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.
“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”
The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.
Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.
“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”
His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.
It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.
Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.
Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.
Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”
Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.
Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.
“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”
The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.
“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”
Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.
Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).
Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.
Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.
In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.
Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.
But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.
Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.
It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.
Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.
Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.
His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.
After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.
They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.
Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.
He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.
Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.
He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.
“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.
At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.
The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.
“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”
It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.
“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.
“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”
Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.
With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.
“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”
Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.
“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”
“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.
“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”
Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.
“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”
It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”
He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.
Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.
Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.
“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.
Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.
“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.
“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”
Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”
Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.
He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.
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writinandcrying · 8 months ago
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Donnie: Can you say Dada? y/n x Donnie's future Turtle baby: Y/N: Can you say turtle? Turtle baby: Donnie *cleaning glasses*: well maybe that's a bit diffic- Turtle Baby: ophthalmologist
Y/N: Donnie *tearing up*: oh my god
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bulbabutt · 2 months ago
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midnight trauma dump off, who can make the other one more uncomfortable faster
its not leo.
(got a sideblog for this shit now)
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