I have recently been getting back into TMNT lately and whilst I haven’t caught up with all of the iterations yet, one consistency that I have noticed that keeps fucking me up is that every storyline that depicts the future for the brothers - Donnie always dies.
The Last Ronin comics are a given, considering it’s focused on Mikey’s grief with the death of his whole family - not just Donnie. But this consistency also exists in both RotTMNT and the 2003 iteration.
RotTMNT’s film depicts only Leo and Mikey as the only surviving members of the original family unit - not long before they both pass as well.
Whilst I am not familiar with the 2003 series (plus I don’t want to spoil myself too much), I understand that while Donnie didn’t died in “Same as it Never Was” - the people around still grieve his absence. Him being sent to the future directly caused not only the events of that episode to take place, but the erasure of a future Donnie to begin with; thus leading his brother to believe he died (again, that’s what I am pretty sure is going on).
The only exception to this rule was the 2012 series, and even that is loosely stated. Donnie is the only one to die due to the mutagen bomb. The only reason he was able to survive was due to his mind being connected to Metalhead and even then, he is still technically dead. The Donnie that we watched throughout the series and Donbot are not the same people. Donbot is just Metalhead with a dead teenager’s consciousness uploaded into it.
His survival was due to a lucky alignment of circumstances and despite it, he doesn’t even get to live.
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the fact that i havent been able to find any eldritch horror stuff(aside from like one fic on ao3) written about the dark urge character yet is criminal. durge is quite literally a pureblooded child of a dead god and i cant stop thinking about it, but i cant really find anyone else exploring that in their writing. i love all the people writing their durges as just murdery little weirdos who have something severely wrong with them, but like...
give me a dark urge that no matter what shape they take, their form has teeth and claws befitting a predator. too-sharp teeth lurking behind a face not made to keep them, designed to shear through flesh and crack bone. give me a durge that's just plain unnerving to be around even beyond the murderousness and religious fanaticism that Bhaal's Chosen holds. Like, in silent rooms, if you listen carefully enough, faint whispers of the urges within their profane blood seep into the air—unintelligible but still undeniably present. A shadow that pools beneath their feet like the blood they leave in their wake. a constant scent of copper that follows them around, no matter how clean they are. Seeing them from the corner of your eye and for a split second you swear you saw tan hide and thick black horns.
idk. just...it feels like theres a lot im that genre of stuff that could be done!!
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ChanBig inspired by the amazingly beautiful fic At the end of your fingertips, us by nubeazul on ao3 💕💕💕
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Chan asks, and it’s suddenly very obvious that it was not disappointment what he thought he saw in his expression. It was worry. Concern.
There's a lump in Big's throat. He can't get any air in. “I didn't think it was important,” he says truthfully, his voice coming out in a whisper.
Something flickers in Chan's expression, quick as lighting. It's gone before Big can pinpoint what it was.
***
Or: Chan helps Big get dressed in the mornings. Big tries to pretend he feels normal about that.
Below the cut, the scene from the fic that inspired this:
Chan takes a step back, looks him up and down, and frowns.
“Where is it?” he asks, his eyes wandering around the room.
“Where is what, sir?” Big says, confused.
“Your—ah, there."
Big doesn’t fully understand what he’s talking about until he sees him walk up to his bedside table and pick up the hair band he left there last night.
And then, because apparently the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Chan gestures to the bed, and says, “Sit.”
That can’t mean what Big thinks it means.
“Sir, there’s no need—”
“Big,” Chan cuts in, his voice carrying a bit more weight this time. It makes Big straighten his spine immediately. “Sit.”
And Big can’t say no. If Chan asks him to give a logical explanation, he won't be able to. It's not an option, after all, to say that he’s afraid that if Chan stands too close, if his touch lingers for too long, he’ll be able to somehow read between the cracked lines of Big’s practiced expression and see all his hidden truths lying there, bare and breakable and weak.
Before his eyes betray him, Big ducks his head in a nod and does as he’s told. He sits down and turns to face the bed’s headboard, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall and keenly aware of Chan’s presence as he moves to stand behind him.
“Has anyone told you you can be absurdly stubborn?” Chan asks, right before his fingers begin threading through Big’s hair.
Big closes his eyes against the sensation, willing himself not to lean into the touch and locking his muscles to stay still.
“Not recently,” he answers truthfully, and hears Chan huff a short laugh behind him. He ignores the way that sound makes him immediately want to smile back.
“I’m glad I remedied that situation,” Chan quips back, and Big is glad he can’t see him roll his eyes in response.
When Chan's hands fall away, Big misses his touch immediately. But he doesn’t get much time to process that, because Chan walks around to stand in front of him and Big has no choice but to look up and meet his eyes.
Chan seems to be assessing his work and, after a few seconds, he nods, seemingly satisfied.
And then—
Then he's reaching out, gently grabbing a loose lock of hair that sprang free from Big's ponytail to slowly place it behind his ear.
The intimacy of the gesture makes Big’s breath stutter; it catches in his throat and, in the silence of the early morning, it seems to resonate loudly in the room.
The moment must last only a second but is more than enough for a clear image to cross his mind: Chan’s touch, lingering, and him turning his face to place a kiss to the center of Chan’s palm in response.
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