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overthinkinglotr · 2 months ago

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The Two Towers film is actually really impressive for how it feels like a cohesive story despite being about three groups of characters whose plotlines almost never intersect during the film’s runtime (Frodo/sam, Merry/Pippin, and Aragorn/Legolas/Gimli.)

Because the Fellowship almost never interacts with each other during the main plot, the filmmakers instead had to connect the plotlines thematically. Frodo/Sam never actually talk to Aragorn, but their plotlines mirror each other.

The Two Towers film is structured so that each splinter group of the Fellowship ultimately struggles with the same goal: they need to convince a despairing grief-stricken ally to aid in the war against Sauron. Theoden, Treebeard, and Faramir are all people who have suffered some great loss in the past wars. As a result, they are all set in their ways out of grief, and refuse to listen to the Fellowship’s advice or agree with their plans. (Until the very end.)

This is also where the films depart a lot from the source material. The two towers was probably the biggest adaptational challenge of the entire series, because the original book is split into two parts that focus on the POV of two different groups of characters (A Three Hunters book, and a Sam/Frodo book) — and then ends on a horrible cliffhanger. This works in the books but would not have worked on film at all.

The filmmakers’ attempts to build a Structured Film Story led to them emphasizing the idea of the Fellowship recruiting reluctant allies, and emphasizing the thematic idea of people being trapped within grief and stasis. Elrond predicts that the worst fate for Arwen would be to “linger on, in darkness and in doubt,” permanently frozen in grief; and this is the state we find most of the new characters in. Film!Theoden is portrayed as far more hesitant and grief-stricken than he was in the book, film!Treebeard is more reluctant and afraid of what war means for the Forest, and film!Faramir is more overwhelmed by the pressure to be like Boromir… and all three of them are overall far more heavily swayed by the Fellowship’s presence. (Though I still have beef with the way Faramir’s plotline was handled—XD) Because they needed to build out a structure that could work on film, they found this thematic throughline and really emphasized it.

Theoden’s grief over the death of his son makes him refuse the Fellowship’s advice to reach out to his allies or ride out against Saruman’s forces; Treebeard’s grief over the waning of the forest makes him decide that “he is on nobody’s side because nobody is on his side,” and Faramir’s grief over the death of Boromir makes him unwilling to try a solution that isn’t “what he believes Boromir would have done.”

These characters all start the film in a state of hopelessness and stasis and avoidance; then they’re ultimately forced to confront the source of their grief, and end the film by aiding the Fellowship.

This is also connected to the journey that all the Fellowship members need to go on. Frodo and Sam are forced to confront the grief at the idea that Frodo is being consumed by the Ring; Merry and Pippin have to face that “there won’t be a Shire” after Sauron’s victory; and Aragorn’s relationship with the people of Rohan forces him to confront his own fears about becoming a king and leading people to their death.

The plotlines are also really well connected through the use of music— like the Last March of the Ents leitmotif being used for Theoden’s choice to ride out against the Uruk-Hai, emphasizing the parallel between the way both characters have hesitated to “ride out and meet” the source of their grief.

And then Sam’s final speech, where a variation on the Shire leitmotif — (a version of the same variation that played in the end of Fellowship of the Ring)— becomes the final moment that ties all the disparate plot threads together. The film is centered on characters being overwhelmed by grief, and entering a state of numbness or stasis where they cut themselves off from the world. When this happens to Frodo, Sam encourages him to believes that there is still goodness in the world that’s worth fighting for— a culmination of all the ideas that have been built up throughout the past three hours.

Despite its flaws the film feels so cohesive, and the end of the film feels like such a satisfying resolution? Which is easy to take for granted because like, there were so many different moving pieces, and without a really clear thematic focus the film could’ve easily ended up falling apart.

#lotr #lord of the rings #overthinkinglotr #I don’t know why I randomly wrote this essay but!!!!#I did #I really do think the two towers is impressive from a filmmaking structure perspective #even if there are some things I’d change about it

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ducknotinarow · 2 years ago

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[07 Don and, everyone I guess? xD it's a big announcement]

Don was giddy as he waited in the lair, standing next to something that he had covered in a white tarp. About half his height, but quite stocky in build. When everyone was finally here, Donatello proudly began to explain what the Hell was going on,

"Ladies and gentleman, and Mikey," A joke he's told a dozen of times, "I'd like to present to you-"

He grabbed the tarp, dragging it off and revealing his latest, and arguably most intricate invention of them all,

"Metalhead!"

Made of whatever metal Don had found, painted with licks of yellow paint for their plastron, and green on the shell, and with eyes glowing bright blue, the metal Turtle tilted his head, scanning the family over as they adjusted to the new brightness,

"I first drew up his blueprints back in two thousand and three, but getting all the right parts and fixing all the bugs took a little longer than expected," He admits, "Originally, he was going to help us fight the Foot Clan, but, since that's all quietened down for the most part, Metalhead is here to assist us in anyway he can."

He's beaming, similarly to how he smiled when he found out about Ariel. Don looks to the robot,

"Metalhead, please introduce yourself."

And as commanded, the robot turtle's head lifted, and addressed everyone else,

"Hello. I am Metalhead. I was created in a lab by Donatello. I am here to assist you."

"I still have a few more things to tweak, but, I thought it was about time that you met him," Don goes on, "Sooo, what do you all think?"

| Muse interaction

Donatello could for sure be on the more dramatic side, and for once Mikey didn't mean in terms of their mood or expression. Which some may think didn't quite fit when it came to the purple coded on of the four. If anything Mikey could see others thinking he was the more dramatic one in the bale. Mikey was supposedly 'over sensitive' which was rude and also wrong because Donatello was the the more dramatic one of them all. As he once more had his latest gadget, or project all ready to be shown off hidden behind a trap. With pretty much everyone Don could get to come and show this whatever off to. Just said a few things one that Donnie was in fact finished with this and two it was something they were beyond excited for. With how visibly giddy Donatello was in the moment it was hard to miss.

"Ladies and gentleman, and Mikey,"

Mikey simply stuck out his tongue towards Don's joke, he has used it many times over the years after all. So Mikey had grown used to the teasing way that Don sometimes refereed to him. Jokes on him it worked for Mikey anyway.

"I'd like to present to you-"

Everyone present in the room at that moment shifted their gazes from Donatello who was speaking to the trap as Don finally went and tugged the fabric pulling it free from the latest invention. Showing what seemed to resemble a robot turtle.

"Metalhead!"

If anyone hadn't been invested before this moment they were now that's for sure the case for Michelangelo. As the robot seemed to stare back at the small crowd. Splinter let his ears twitch slightly as he observed Don's latest build. Raphael didn't seem all that phased, arms still crossed over his plastron as he looked over the robot himself. Lameo. Summer seemed to share in Mikey's excitement as she stood near by Ariel seeming to be saying something to her as she even tugged on their sleeve and went about the robot. Eyes wide as she looked it excited because hey a real robot! Least some in the crowd could see how cool this was. But of couirse Donatlloe being Donatello he had far more to say about it all.

"I first drew up his blueprints back in two thousand and three, but getting all the right parts and fixing all the bugs took a little longer than expected,"

Mikey had checked out on the technical part of the conversation honestly hes sure most of them had slightly checked out when Donatello went on to ramble on just then and there.

"Originally, he was going to help us fight the Foot Clan, but, since that's all quietened down for the most part, Metalhead is here to assist us in anyway he can."

Mikey offers a tilt of his head catching how Don beamed suddenly, hmm that a familiar look, shifting his own gaze towards Ariel before looking back. Don's always took some extra pride in what all he invented but seems this might be the second time that pride was just a bit more. That just Mikey to smile a bit more himself. Guess the long time it took Metalhead to finally be finished was more than a simply project something with more heart put into it than Don's brain was. That would explain the need to gather this crowd to see his little bot here after all. Sure showing him, Leo and Raph made sense if it was something like Don mentioned but this was far more like a family announcement. And gathering all of them together was not easy to do these days.

Dons being a dork again. Was basically the best way to sum all of that up with.

"Metalhead, please introduce yourself."

"Hello. I am Metalhead. I was created in a lab by Donatello. I am here to assist you."

Mikey offered a wave of his friend to the robot once they spoke up, maybe it was due to hoe Don address and looked towards them but Mikey had to admit he wasn't really seeing this as like Shelltank or whatever else, in truth kind of was like the day Ariel was born. So their was a fondness settling over the turtle already.

"I still have a few more things to tweak, but, I thought it was about time that you met him,"

There's a shared glance between Raph and Mikey at that a silent little 'of course you do between them before they look back.

"Sooo, what do you all think?"

"I 'hink ya really need to work on ya to do list Don." Raphael was first to pipe in with. Happy to tease Donnie over that ever growing to do list that always made some thing be put off for later and such.

Mikey themself walked over closer to the robot for a better look "I think ya gotta work on your showmanship skill Don." Mikey chimed in with as well because of course, neither could allow their brother a moment of peace. "ya make a robot and you only put him under a trap? that's lame Dee even for you." Mikey continues with moving to throw his hands out to present the robot "I mean look at you Metal! your a robot right? That fucking awesome!" Mikey continues on to hype it all up with.

"Don't worry Mikey sure 'hat's on his to do list too" Raph adds in.

Mikey moves to be near the robot now hand on their shoulder as he looks over to Don "Tell him Metal! I want a cool introduction too!" Mikey plays along more with. Pretty sure that the robot wouldn't but right now he was annoying Donnie so that part didn't matter much.

Raphael made his way over next seems to grow more interest now in the robot "Nah Don probs tried to give poor bot some good behavior chip or whatever."

Mikey smirks "I mean I think any program can be changed right? Look at Ari after all." As if Ariel was a trouble maker at all. "Don't worry Metal auncle Mikey and uncle Raph won't let you be all stiff like your Dad." Raphael tilted his head at Mikey's comments now, not having picked up on Don's apparent parental fondness towards the robot. Looking back at them as he rub at his chin a bit. "nah I think metals safe for now," Raphael adds with picking up on the nickname Mikey was using. "Still no where near as stiff as Don is" And the teasing continues because Raph and Mikey can't truly like Don enjoy anything with out a bit of it. "Clearly Splinter didn' give ya a wooden stick as a weapon for nothin' "

Mikey snorted a little at that "We helped Ari now we gotta help Ari's brother too before it's too late! the spread of Don's geek is too strong. It's amazing Von been spared so long!" and they were ready to give in anytime soon at that.

#muse| hamato michelangelo #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ the brains of this operations -aflockoffeathers]#(though i worte more muses I went mostly from mikeys POV why he listed in the lead and the rest don't really talk much but they here lol)#muse| hamato raphael #muse| splinter #muse| summer jones #[ you think first i hit first -aflockoffeathers]#[Children have to be free to lead their own lives -aflockoffeathers]#[ don't tell the rest but i like you best -aflockoffeathers]#[metalhead tags tbd]#muse interaction #ic reply #stay queue #((Sorry don but some things wont change uwu but they have already accepted thier new nephew uwu))

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stellaspectral · 2 months ago

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I have two requests, both with the Bayverse turtles. This is the second one:

Raphael x Female Reader.

Fluff. Lots of Fluff. With some introspection too maybe? Extrovert Grumpy (Raph) x Introvert Sunshine (Reader).

I was thinking of something that would focus on their blooming relationship but seen through the eyes of Leo, Donnie, and Mikey. Or just one of them of your choice if this request gets too long. It's the first time they've seen Raph act so soft, sweet, and calm and awkward around someone and they'll definitely have a lot of thoughts going on in their heads about it. And maybe a lot of teasing too ;). Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it!

A/N: Hello, anon! To be honest, I wasn’t sure whose POV of Raph and the reader’s relationship to write in. But it seems I ended up gravitating towards Leo the most. Though the other two still have commentary, of course.

Enjoy! 💖

Drawn to You (fluff)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, soft/awkward Raph, implied crush/pining, brotherly teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You’re curled up on the couch in the lair, nestled deep into the cushions, sketchbook open on your lap. The paper is smooth under your pencil as you draw one of the graffiti markings on the wall opposite you. You add a final flourish to the spray-painted tag you’ve replicated, tilting your head to admire your work.

Suddenly, the lair’s entrance tunnel echoes with boisterous sounds. Footsteps herald the return of the turtles from whatever topside excursion they were on. You instinctively snuggle a little tighter into the couch, a cheerful smile tugging at your lips.

The first one who enters is Leo, already mid-sentence, gesturing emphatically. “… and I told you the grappling hook wouldn’t hold on that gargoyle, Donnie, but did you listen? Nooo.”

Donnie follows, looking mildly exasperated. “My calculations indicated a 93.9% structural integrity probability. Clearly, the masonry was older than I initially thought.”

Mikey comes in last, practically vibrating. “Dude, did you see that flip Leo almost didn’t stick? Epic fail waiting to happen, bro!”

Last comes Raph. He enters more quietly than usual, rubbing the back of his thick neck, his usual post-patrol scowl firmly in place. His eyes scan the lair, likely checking if Splinter is meditating nearby. Then they land on you.

And something shifts.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible if you didn’t know him. But from the entryway, where his brothers have paused their bickering to shed their gear, the change is glaringly obvious.

Leo stops mid-gesticulation, his eyes widening slightly. He nudges Donnie, who adjusts his glasses purely out of habit, and raises a questioning brow ridge. Mikey just freezes, his usual bouncy energy stilling as he watches.

Raph’s shoulders, typically tense and ready for action, visibly relax. The deep V of his scowl softens, not quite disappearing, but smoothing out into something almost … hesitant. He takes a step towards the living area, then another, his heavy footfalls strangely muted on the floor. He seems to be actively trying not to stomp.

He stops a few feet away from the couch, his enormous frame suddenly looking a little awkward in the open space. He clears his throat, a low rumble that’s much softer than his usual volume. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough but lacking its typical edge. “You, uh, good?”

You look up, beaming at him. The brightness of your smile seems to physically hit him; he blinks, shifting his weight. “Hey, Raph! Yeah, I’m great. Just drawing.” You hold up your sketchbook. “How was the patrol?”

“Uh, fine. Usual.” He glances towards the graffiti you were drawing, then back at your face. There’s a flicker of something warm in his eyes, a stark contrast to the ‘ready-to-rumble’ look he usually sports. “Looks good.” He takes another step closer, peering over your shoulder, but careful not to crowd you. There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness in his proximity.

Meanwhile, by the entrance, a quiet conversation is happening.

“Dude, look at him,” Mikey whispers, pointing with a slight nod of his head. “He’s doing ‘the thing’ again.”

“Define ‘the thing’,” Donnie begins. “His heightened state of peripheral awareness when she’s present? His decreased vocalizations? The slight, almost imperceptible softening of his default scowl?”

“All of it, brainiac!” Mikey whisper-shouts. “He looks like a big, shy puppy trying to ask for pets without barking too loud.”

Leo, leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watches with a more measured expression. He’s noticed it too, of course. How could he not? Raphael, his brother who communicates primarily through grunts, glares, and the occasional explosive outburst, becomes … subdued around you. Gentle. It’s baffling.

And, Leo has to admit, a little heartwarming.

Donnie pushes his glasses up again. “Fascinating. Physiologically, his respiration rate appears elevated, but his aggressive posturing shows a significant reduction. Perhaps a neurochemical response triggered by proximity to a preferred individual?”

“Or maybe,” Mikey stage-whispers, leaning closer to his brothers, “he liiiikes her!”

Back by the couch, Raph shifts again, his gaze locked on the sketchbook page. He points at a specific detail in your drawing. “You got the … the little flicky bit there just right. The way the paint kinda dripped.” He clears his throat again. “How’d you get so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you say, offering him another warm smile. “Want to see the others I did?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide for a fraction of a second, that warmth flickering more brightly. “Uh … yeah. Sure. If you wanna show me.” He moves closer but doesn’t sit. His gaze drifts from the sketchbook back to your face, lingering for just a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Across the room, hidden partially by the archway leading to the dojo, the espionage continued.

“See? SEE?” Mikey whispers. “He’s leaning! Like, actually leaning in to look at her drawings! Raph never leans! He looms. Or glares.”

Donnie analyzes the scene. “Observation: Raphael’s typical personal space boundary appears significantly reduced in relation to her. Approximately 45 centimeters closer than his baseline average with non-familial individuals. Also, note the lack of fidgeting typically associated with his impatience. Instead, he exhibits micro-shifts indicative of … social anxiety? Or perhaps, contentment?”

“It’s called being smitten, Donnie,” Leo supplies, pushing off the wall. Casually, he saunters closer to you and Raph, ostensibly to put away his katanas. But truthfully, he’s only positioning himself for a better view.

“Never thought I’d see the day Raph looked like he was afraid of scaring someone just by breathing too hard,” Donnie murmurs.

“He asked how she got good at drawing,” Mikey adds, eyes wide with dramatic effect. “He usually just grunts and says ‘cool’ if he likes something. He used words. Multiple words! In a question!”

Back at the couch, you’re flipping through the pages of your sketchbook. Raph remains standing, his large hands clasped loosely behind his back, a pose that looks strangely formal and uncertain on his powerful frame. He’s genuinely looking at each sketch, his brow furrowed in concentration, not anger.

“This one’s the mural down by the old noodle shop,” you explain, pointing to a vibrant, detailed reproduction. “And this is that little stencil someone keeps putting on the mailboxes near the park …”

“Yeah … know that one,” Raph mumbles, his gaze flicking up to meet yours for a second before darting back to the page. That warmth is definitely there, a banked fire behind his usual tough-guy facade. “You … uh … you really capture the … the feel of ‘em.”

“He’s complimenting her artistic interpretation,” Donnie murmurs, sounding genuinely astonished. “The probability of Raph using such nuanced appreciation is statistically infinitesimal under normal circumstances. This deviation is remarkable.”

“Translation: Raph’s got it BAD!” Mikey giggles, barely containing himself.

It’s Leo’s cue. He finishes securing his swords and wanders over to the couch area, stretching nonchalantly. “Hey, Raph,” he calls out, his voice deliberately casual but loud enough to carry. “Everything alright? You look a little flushed. Feeling okay?”

Raph visibly tenses. His head snaps towards Leo, the soft expression vanishing, replaced by a familiar annoyed glare. “I’m fine, Leo. Just … lookin’ at sketches.” The last part comes out defensive.

“Oh yeah?” Leo stops near the armrest, peering over Raph’s shoulder, mimicking his earlier pose but with deliberate exaggeration. “Whatcha got there? Wow, Raph’s right, these are amazing! You really captured the … spray-e-ness.” He gives Raph a pointed look.

You smile up at Leo. “Thank you.”

Raph shifts uncomfortably, caught between your presence and his brother’s obvious teasing. He shoots Leo a warning look that clearly reads, ‘Don’t push it’.

Mikey, never one to miss an opportunity, comes over. “Ooh, lemme see! Wowzers! Raph, you never told us she was this talented! Usually, you just grunt about stuff.” He grins cheekily. “Guess some things make you wanna use your words, huh?”

A faint reddish tinge creeps up Raph’s neck. “Shut it, Mikey.”

Finally, Donnie approaches. “Indeed. Raph’s verbal communication frequency increases by approximately 35% in her presence, correlating with a decrease in aggressive posturing by nearly 50%. Fascinating psycho-social dynamics are at play.”

“Donnie!” Raph snaps, turning fully towards his brothers now, creating a partial shield between them and you. It’s a protective gesture as much as a defensive one. “Can’t you go … I dunno … invent somethin’ or annoy Splinter?”

“Aw, but Raph,” Mikey whines playfully, leaning around him to beam at you, “we just wanna hang out! Like you’re hanging out! Looking at pretty drawings.” His gaze flicks meaningfully between you and Raph.

You look between the brothers, catching the teasing undercurrent and noticing Raph’s struggle to maintain his composure. A small, amused smile tugs at your mouth. You reach out tentatively and pat Raph’s arm, feeling the muscle beneath twitch slightly at the contact.

“It’s okay, Raph,” you assure softly. “I don’t mind showing them.” You look back at your sketchbook. “Maybe you guys could even give me ideas for what to draw next?”

The effect on Raph is instantaneous. His glare softens again as he looks down at you, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. The slight flush on his neck deepens, and the anger has dissipated, replaced by that familiar, flustered awkwardness. He clears his throat again. “Uh … yeah. S-sure. If … if you want.”

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey exchange looks. Whiplash. One gentle touch, a few soft words from you, and Volcano Raphael is dormant once more.

Leo can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Oh yeah; this was definitely unfamiliar territory. And watching Raph navigate it, with all the grace of a tank trying to tiptoe through a minefield, was going to be endlessly entertaining. Regardless, he steers Donnie and Mikey away to give you and Raph some space.

“Did you see that?” Mikey whispers dramatically, eyes sparkling. “Poof! Grumpy gone!”

Raph lets out a breath as his brothers retreat towards the kitchen, their voices fading but their knowing glances still palpable. He visibly deflates, the tension leaving his body in a rush, but he remains standing.

“So,” you prompt gently, tapping your pencil against the sketchbook. “Ideas?”

He glances around the lair, eyes snagging on a training dummy, then the weapons rack, before finally landing back on your sketchbook. “Maybe … maybe you could draw … you know that bit of wall near the docks? The one where the bricks are all busted up and kinda looks like a face if you squint?”

You tilt your head, picturing it. “Oh, yeah! With the really deep cracks running through it? I know the one.”

“Yeah. That.” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’s kinda cool. Looks tough. Like it’s been through stuff.” He seems pleased with his own description, though his gaze flicks nervously towards the kitchen, checking if his brothers overheard.

From the kitchen doorway, Mikey leans out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ooh, busted bricks! How romantic, Raph! Maybe she can draw a little heart graffiti next to it?”

Raph whirls around, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Mikey! I swear—”

“Easy, you two,” Leo’s voice drifts from deeper within the kitchen.

Raph clenches his fists, his neck flushing that familiar red again. But then he catches your eye. You’re watching him, not with fear, but with a patient, amused expression. He forces himself to take another deep breath, turning back towards you. The growl subsides, though his jaw remains tight.

“Ignore them,” you say, offering a reassuring smile. “I like that idea. The texture of those old bricks would be interesting to capture.” You flip to a fresh page in your sketchbook, wanting to get Raph involved. “Show me again where the cracks look like a face?”

His anger drains away almost comically fast. He steps closer, bending at the waist to peer at your blank page. He hesitates, then lifts a finger, hovering it just above the paper, careful not to touch. “Okay, so … the big crack goes down here, like this …” He traces the shape in the air above the page. “And there’s these smaller bits that kinda … yeah, like eyes. And the busted bit at the bottom looks like a grumpy mouth.”

He’s leaning closer now, his usual intimidating presence softened by his focused explanation. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint scent of the city night still clinging to his gear. He’s completely absorbed in describing the broken wall, his voice losing some of its earlier hesitation.

“Grumpy mouth, huh?” you muse, sketching lightly based on his description. “Sounds appropriate.”

He glances up, meeting your eyes directly for a solid second. The warmth there flares, intense and unguarded, before he quickly looks back down at the sketchbook. “Yeah. Guess so.”

You continue sketching, adding details as he describes them. He stays close, watching the image appear on the page. A few more details he points out include a loose wire hanging nearby, and a specific pattern of moss. He’s surprisingly observant.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, the others continue their own observation at a lower volume.

“He’s practically an art historian now,” Mikey says, his voice full of suppressed laughter. “Describing moss patterns! Who knew Raph noticed moss?”

“Or maybe,” Leo murmurs, leaning beside Donnie, arms still crossed, “he just actually wants to talk to her.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to break the weirdly calm bubble that seems to have formed around the couch.

You finish the rough sketch of the brick wall face, holding it up. “Like this?”

Raph leans in again. He’s closer now, close enough that you could probably count the scars on his face if you wanted to. “Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, almost a rumble. “Looks good.” He doesn’t pull back immediately this time, his gaze lingering on the drawing, then flicking up to meet yours again.

But then he seems to realize how close he is and moves back half a step, a faint pinkness rising on his cheeks this time.

“They almost touched noses!” Mikey whisper-squeals from the kitchen, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Proximity threshold breached and self-corrected,” Donnie observes.

Leo just shakes his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Donnie could analyze the shell off a turtle, but even he couldn’t miss the obvious: Raph is head over heels.

You flip to another blank page. “Any other cool spots you think would make good sketches?”

Raph hesitates, glancing around the lair again as if searching for inspiration that isn’t potentially embarrassing. His gaze falls upon the worn-out punching bag in his room. “Maybe the bag?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Got a lot of … history.”

It’s a simple object, beat-up and functional, but the way he suggests it feels oddly personal, like he’s offering a small piece of himself.

Leo watches you and Raph. You’re smiling, considering the punching bag with genuine interest. Raph looks at you as you watch the bag, his expression a strange mix of hopeful and apprehensive. The usual storm cloud that follows Raph seems to have dissipated, replaced by this uncertain, almost sunny humidity. It’s weird.

Good weird, mostly, Leo thinks.

Donnie and Mikey look at Leo expectantly, waiting for the punchline. The teasing remark. But Leo looks past them, back towards the couch. Raph sees him, his shoulders tensing again as he braces for the usual barrage. He glances from Leo, back to you, then to Leo with a silent plea in his eyes.

And, for once, Leo listens. He sees the vulnerability there, the raw awkwardness that his brother tries so hard to hide behind muscle and scowls. He’s navigating something new, something that doesn’t involve fists or threats, and he’s doing it clumsily. But he’s doing it.

Leo catches his eyes from across the room. He gives Raph the smallest, almost imperceptible nod that says, I see you. It’s alright. Then Leo turns to his other brothers, lowering his voice. “Alright. Squad, you’re dismissed.”

Mikey opens his mouth to protest, probably armed with a dozen heart-related puns.

“Now,” Leo orders, cutting him off with a look that says I mean it. “Let the big guy breathe. Go sort your gear or something.”

Donnie raises a brow but nods slowly, seemingly accepting the logic of allowing the current social experiment to proceed without further variables. Mikey pouts but follows Donnie, muttering something about ‘mood killers’ and ‘romantic potential.’ Leo leans back against the counter, crossing his arms.

You’re sketching the punching bag, asking Raph about a specific tear near the top. He’s answering, his voice still low, leaning in again, pointing with that same hesitant finger. He looks … quiet. Focused. Almost peaceful.

It’s a side of Raph Leo rarely sees. The fighter, the hothead—that’s the Raph they all know. But this Raph, the one who describes moss patterns and gets flustered by a smile, is new. For Leo, it’s actually kind of nice to see his younger brother soften, even just for a little while.

Perhaps Raph wasn’t just doing ‘the thing,’ as Mikey put it. Maybe he was just being Raphael.

And maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

#my writing #filled requests #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse raph x reader #raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt requests #scheduled post

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velvetbunniie-archive · 2 years ago

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extremely insane how increasingly drastic the government conspiracies get with each book. no.1 being “ohhh there’s this fringe group that wants to kill this presidential candidate via live zombie virus” was exceedingly normal and believable. no.2 being “hey the cdc actually has been developing the new strains of the zombie virus and sending them out to create a ‘stable’ virus to cure” was also p believable, but very tin foil hat. no.3 being “btw we cloned the dead sister and we’re going to send her in to assassinate her brother before he reveals the cdc is behind the zombie virus” is fuckign INSANE. loving it.

#it helps that the sanity of the pov chara has been splintering through each book #SO. that makes the adjustment of the stakes pretty normal ?? yk??? w the atmosphere of the book becoming less and less stable #/ based in real world fact #and also: the writing is good and i’m having fun and it’s an entertaining book #i mean spoilers ig but ??? WHO is going to read these novels besides mee #memorie.txt #live.bookthoughts

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forestlingincorporated · 1 year ago

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#rottmnt lost and found au #rottmnt separated au #rottmnt fanfiction #splinter pov

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peach-moths · 5 months ago

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Pov ur parents are divorced and ur the last kid to move out of home so you get roped into "helping" ur dad clean your brothers childhood bedrooms and he learns things about your childhood he didn't know before

A late high school years era teacher au comic based on a convo me and hera had about a Yoshi crash out centered around his (almost) empty and yet somehow still messy house and being over taken with the drive to clean it and mikey being the only witness to his crash out since he's the last kid living at home

Transcript:

Splinter(Yoshi): "Did Blue ever do his laundry?

Mikey: "Nah"

Mikey: "He'd beg each of us every week to clean his laundry for him"

Yoshi: "Did it work?"

Mikey: "No, he had to bribe us to do his laundry. How did you think I got chai lattes like twice a week, dad?"

Yoshi: "oh"

Yoshi: "I just assumed it was because Draxum was spoiling you. Not that you were swindling your brother"

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanart #rise mikey #rottmnt mikey #rise splinter #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt teacher au: high school years #rottmnt teacher au #rottmnt au #peachmoths art tag #draxum does spoil mikey but theres a certain satisfaction in drinking a bribe chai rather than favorite child chai #more divorce era teacher au art #i love the divorce era draxum and Yoshi are so catty toward each other #TPOL Au #The Pedagogy of Life au

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qoldenskies · 7 months ago

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Also you 🤝me

Doing Bad Things Happen Bingo looking at Rise and cackling wickedly…..now to make them their own separate thing or write more CC brainrot

always the option to mix it up a little !!! i'll probably be writing a little cc if i get an idea for something really good with my bthb but im probably going to focus mooostly on original prompts so mess around. do what your heart desires!!!

#ask #my brain races in circles for ages until i get a Zing #and that is what makes me write the good shit #and i literally could not tell you what makes it happen it just kinda. pop #WHERE DID I GET THE CANARIES FROM BRUH #fun fact for CU i was originally planning on doing a curse that affected all of them #to draw a line between donnie and his family like #its a kind of affliction that can be mitigated with physical touch #for the rest of them it barely means anything. its so easy to handle #so they dont even consider donnie at all at first until its too late #and they werent even told it COULD get that bad because why would they be???#i couldnt find a structure for it so i changed it to venom instead howeverrr #i am very invested in the idea of doing some whump for all of them like that #like idk pollen that heightens paranoia severely or something #and splinter has to confront the ways his neglect has affected his children definitely by the ways they act #OH THE ZING HAPPENED #splinter pov ....#raph fight leo flight mikey freeze donnie fawn...... chat im cooking. CHAT IM COOKING #eyeing the self loathing prompt #like mikey cant do anything but cry and cling to his family #and raph is super protective and trying to herd them and keep them AWAY from splinter out of distrust #and leo flees because he's ashamed of being distress and they cant see him like that #while donnie obsessively cleans and checks stock #and splinter thinks he's being reliable 'as ever' until he breaks down over something so simple #like not enough food and its the day before grocery day #CHAT IM COOKING #omfg

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pvtpunsart · 2 months ago

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Could you do c3 for Mikey? I can totally see him using those big puppy dog eyes to beg for smth lmao

POV you are splinter and [sigh] it looks like it's dino chicken nuggets for dinner again tonight

you will try to get your youngest to eat one (1) vegetable tomorrow instead

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #asks #my art #expressions meme

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soulofapatrick · 7 months ago

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All’s Fair in Love and War - Azriel x female reader

Summary: Azriel finds you after the war with Hybern

Words: 2.8K

Warnings: blood, shock

Notes: sorry if this is messy - the idea came to me just now and I’m very tired and sleep deprived

Y/N's POV

The battle is over. The roar of soldiers, the clash of swords, the gut-wrenching screams of the dying—they all fade, swallowed by a profound, unnatural silence. It's not the kind of quiet that brings peace. No, this stillness presses down on me like a weight, suffocating, as if the very air has thickened in the aftermath of violence. The tension in my muscles, the ache in my bones, feels as though it’s settling deep inside me, wrapping itself around my insides and pulling me down. Yet, I refuse to lie down. I won’t let myself be coddled, not when the taste of battle is still so fresh in the back of my throat.

I’m sitting upright in a rickety wooden chair, the rough, splintered wood digging into my back, but I don't care. The fabric of my tunic clings to my skin, drenched in a sickly mix of sweat and blood—my own, other people’s, I can’t tell anymore. Feyre’s insisted I lie down, insisted I let her help me, but I can’t. I need to stay here, right where I am. I need to be present, to feel the weight of my own existence, even as the world tilts and shifts in ways that don’t feel real.

My body feels wrong. Alien. Detached. It’s like I’m floating just above myself, watching from a distance. My limbs are too heavy, my chest too tight. The stinging aches from the cuts, bruises, and burns barely register against the cold emptiness gnawing at me from the inside. It feels like the very essence of who I am has been swallowed up, frozen over in a deep, hollow void that refuses to release its grip. My heart is still pounding, but the beat sounds muffled, as if I’m hearing it through a thick wall of fog.

I can taste it—the blood. The metallic tang coats my mouth, thick and sticky, like copper settling on my tongue. It tastes of death, of everything I’ve just witnessed, of the blood spilled for this fleeting victory. It makes my stomach churn, but I can’t bring myself to wipe it away. I don’t want to. It feels like a mark, like a final seal on everything we’ve just survived. A reminder of the price we’ve paid.

Feyre is beside me, but she feels so far away, even though I can hear the soft shuffle of her feet and feel the warmth of her presence. Her High Lady aura glows faintly in the dim light of the medical tent, shimmering around her like a halo, but there’s an edge to her that I recognise. The poise, the grace, is still there, but beneath it, I can see the cracks—the lines of worry etched deep in her face. She hovers near me, her hands hovering uncertainly as though she doesn’t want to break something fragile, doesn’t want to push me too far. Her fingers brush over my cheek, but I can feel the hesitation there, the caution. She’s holding back, trying not to make me feel weak.

My cheek feels raw, tender, swollen. I can feel the blood caked against my skin, drying in clumps, pulling at the tender flesh of my face. I know the wound is deep. I know it’s going to scar, leaving me with a permanent reminder of this war, this senseless battle that has taken so much from us. But right now, I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when the pain feels so distant, so muted, as if it belongs to someone else. All I can feel is the relentless grip of numbness, seeping into me, pushing out everything but the silence, the hollow ache.

Feyre’s voice pierces through the fog, soft and concerned, but it feels like it’s coming from a world far removed from me. “Y/N, you need to rest. You’re in no shape to be sitting up.”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, my voice cracked, dry as the air around me. It’s barely above a whisper, yet I feel the weight of it, the lie that I’m trying to convince myself of. “Just… let me be.”

I try to ignore the way my words falter, the way my body trembles despite my best efforts to hold steady. The exhaustion presses down on me, a weight too heavy to bear, but I refuse to admit it. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of Feyre’s breath, steady and calm, though I know it’s not as unaffected as it seems. I hear the subtle shift in her posture, the uncertainty in the way she moves around me, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with me now. She’s worried, but she’s not pushing—she knows better than that.

And as I sit there, trapped in my own numbness, I feel the sting of my injuries fade into the background, swallowed by something deeper, something even harder to name. The tent is still, heavy with the weight of what’s happened—what’s still happening—but in the silence, there’s a steady, almost magnetic pull drawing me in. The world beyond the canvas walls is chaos, but here, in this small space, there’s a suffocating quiet, a sense of something monumental about to shift.

The flaps of the tent whip open again, and I feel it, the change in the air before I even hear their footsteps. Heavy. Relentless. The hum of power vibrates through the ground, the soft, sure steps unmistakable even before I see them.

Azriel.

Rhysand, Cassian—they follow, but it’s Azriel who fills the space, his presence tangible, suffocating, like a shadow that has always lingered just beyond the edges of my sight. And I know, even before I look up, that he's close. That shadow—his shadow—rushes in, skimming across the floor like liquid night, trailing after him, pulsing with life, like it’s an extension of him.

Feyre’s touch, warm and light, presses briefly on my shoulder before she moves away, joining her mate and the others, leaving me with Azriel, leaving me with the space between us that feels far too large and yet too small all at once. I know the others are there, I hear their words, but it’s Azriel I feel, his presence like a weight, heavy and undeniable. The shadows, they rush forward, caressing the air around me as they always do when he’s near—silent, loving, soft. His shadows have always been an extension of him, always a part of who he is, and right now, they envelop me in a comforting embrace, soothing the sharp edges of the world that try to break me apart.

I can’t move. My head still feels too heavy, too fogged with shock, and my body refuses to listen to me. But I feel them—his shadows—brush over my skin, gentle whispers of darkness, caressing me in a way that’s almost tender. They tug softly at the edges of my pain, washing over me, calming the panic that bubbles beneath the surface.

The soft thud of his boots stops directly in front of me. I don't look up. My body still doesn't listen. The shadows pull tighter around me, brushing against my skin like a lover’s touch, their cool embrace more comforting than the warmth of the sun. They make me feel whole, like I'm not slipping away into the numbness that’s trying to take me.

And then, without a word, Azriel kneels in front of me. I feel the shift in the air around him, the way his presence seems to draw everything closer, making the world feel smaller, like it's only the two of us now.

His scarred hands, the hands that have seen so much destruction, are gentle as they reach toward me. He hooks his fingers under my chin, lifting my face toward him with a force that isn't harsh but is insistent, like he won’t let me hide. Like he can’t let me hide.

And I look into his eyes. Hazel. Always searching. Always filled with that intensity, that unspoken understanding. His eyes flicker over my face, tracing the marks left by battle—the dried blood on my cheek, the swelling beneath my skin, the injury I know will leave a scar. But he doesn't look at it in disgust or pity. He looks at me. At me, the way only he ever has—like I’m something precious.

"Y/N," his voice is low, hoarse, almost cracked under the weight of what he's feeling. The shadows gather around us, encircling us both as if they're shielding us from the rest of the world. They move with him, soft, soothing, like they too are trying to hold me together. The subtle crackle of power in the air is thick, the tension between us palpable, but it’s his touch—the warmth of his fingers on my skin—that seems to hold everything still.

Azriel leans forward, and the air thickens between us, charged, electric, suffocating. His breath skims over my lips, and I know, I know, that this moment is everything. The world outside, the battle, the blood, the pain—all of it feels so far away now. There is only the space between us. Only him. Only the suffocating weight of his presence, and the shadows that pulse with life, circling us like an embrace, like a cage.

His eyes burn into mine, molten, dark, searching. His chest rises and falls, too fast, too heavy, as if he's holding his breath, waiting, as if we're both on the edge of something we can't undo. His shadows caress me, tender and possessive, as if they, too, are desperate to make sure I don't slip away. They're everywhere—on my skin, in my veins, curling around me, holding me steady, holding me together.

And then, without another breath between us, his lips crash into mine.

It's not gentle. It’s feral. Desperate. As if he's been holding himself back for lifetimes, and now that barrier is shattered. His lips are fierce, hungry, demanding, and all at once, I feel everything he’s been keeping buried—every bit of the anguish, the fear, the longing—poured into the kiss.

Azriel’s hands are on me, pulling me, urgent and fierce, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold on tight enough. His touch is rough—scarred fingers threading through my hair, tilting my head back with a force that has me gasping, his mouth crashing into mine in a kiss that is all need, all fire. I taste blood—his, mine, I don’t care, I can't care—not when he’s here, when his body is pressed against mine, when every inch of him is breathing life back into me.

And then, without warning, he pulls me down.

I barely register the movement before I’m on the floor, my knees digging into the hard dirt beneath me, the sting of it nothing compared to the overwhelming heat that radiates from him. He’s sitting back on his knees, his thick thighs caging me in as I straddle him, my legs on either side, and the world narrows to just the space between us. His hands move to my back, pulling me flush against his chest, and the kiss deepens, more desperate, more frantic, as if this is the only way he can make sure I’m real, that I’m alive, that I’m still here.

His shadows wrap around us like a dark cocoon, curling around us both, a living thing that soothes, caresses, and holds us together. They move over my skin, tracing the curve of my spine, filling the space between us with an almost painful tenderness, as if they’re echoing the rawness in his kiss. They wrap around my arms, my waist, gently tugging me closer, pulling me against him like I belong there, like I’m the missing piece he’s been searching for.

I don’t care that the ground is rough, that the dirt is grinding into my knees, that my body is still sore and battered from the battle. None of it matters because he’s here. He’s alive. His lips are on mine, and nothing else exists. Not the horrors we’ve just survived, not the pain coursing through me, not the scars I know are already forming on my skin. There’s only him, only this moment, only the desperate, consuming way we kiss like our very lives depend on it.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, his breath ragged as he breaks the kiss just enough to speak, but I’m not ready to let him go. His lips are against mine once more, rough and relentless, as if he’s trying to memorise the feeling of me, of us—of the connection that is more than just physical, more than just a fleeting moment of relief after the battle. His scarred hands slide down my sides, gripping me tightly, pulling me even closer, and I can’t help but let out a soft gasp at the pressure. His body shifts under mine, his thick thighs holding me in place as his shadows wrap tighter around us, drawing me further into his orbit.

Every breath, every movement, is a slow, steady burn, and I can feel the intensity of it seeping into my skin, into my bones. He’s not just kissing me—he’s claiming me, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t. His hands move to my back, tracing the curve of it before pressing me harder into him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he’s fighting for air. His lips break from mine, but only just, brushing against my jaw, my neck, as he breathes deeply against my skin, each inhale shuddering, as if he can’t quite gather himself enough to speak.

“Azriel,” I whisper, the name feeling foreign on my tongue, but I don’t care. Not when I’m here, not when his shadows are around us like a fortress, cocooning us in a darkness that’s only ours. “What are you—”

“I thought I lost you,” he cuts me off, his voice raw, rough, like he’s been holding back for too long. His lips find mine again, desperate, hungry, and the world outside us disappears.

But even as the kiss consumes me, I feel his trembling fingers against my cheek, his touch soft, reverent, like he’s afraid of breaking me, as if the battle, the blood, the scars are all still too fresh for him to truly believe I’m here.

I tilt my head back, surrendering into him, letting the kiss go deeper, matching the frantic pace of his lips as his breath catches in his throat. And as I feel him pulling me, coaxing me closer, his shadows continue to circle, holding us together in the suffocating intensity of everything unsaid.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs against my lips, the words desperate, raw, and heavy with meaning, as if they carry the weight of everything he’s been holding inside. “You’re... everything.”

My heart races at the confession—his confession—and my hands move to his face, feeling the roughness of his skin, the rasp of his stubble, the undeniable truth in the way he kisses me. His lips are tender now, softer, as if he's trying to take the moment in, savour it, but there's still a hunger beneath it all. Still a desperate need to make sure I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t have the words for this. For him. For us. So I let the kiss speak for me, my hands slipping down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

His shadows seem to gather around us tighter, pulling me into him, surrounding us in a blanket of darkness and heat that holds us together, that swallows us whole. Everything else falls away—the battle, the pain, the fear—all of it. There’s only Azriel and me, only this moment, and the undeniable connection between us that has always been there, buried beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And then, he pulls back just enough for us to breathe. His eyes are searching mine, dark and intense, filled with something I can’t name. Something that flickers in his gaze, something fragile, but unwavering.

“I thought I lost you,” he repeats, the words a soft, desperate plea.

I lean forward, my forehead resting against his, and I finally whisper the only words that seem to matter right now: “You didn’t.”

And as his lips meet mine again, softer this time, full of relief, of unspoken promises, I know that this is the beginning of something new, something that neither of us can turn away from.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222

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