thefireflymutant-blog

[thefireflymutant-blog]

[{If you ain't wished techyturtle a happy birthday, you better. Imma be doodlin' up somethin' cute here shortly after I finish a thing, but I demand everyone be givin' the mun love.}]

[thefireflymutant-blog]

[{Oh wow, 'm only just seein' this. Sorry! I had to go on hiatus because I got a job for a bit and dealin' with finances! It didn't even alert me this was a thing until now dang.

If you do want to rp still, just let me know!}]

Thefirefly mutant start following you

((SHRILL SCREAMING IN THE DISTANCE IVE BEEN WANTING TO RP WITH YOU FOREVER BUT IVE BEEN TOO CHICKEN TO SAY ANYTHING))

[thefireflymutant-blog]

[thefireflymutant-blog]

She made a slight face as she realized as to why they only ever had Pizza for either breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or cereal. That was an atrocity, and now she knew exactly what to start bringing the guys to start using; if Leo was trying to learn how to cook, he couldn't just eyeball it like that, no wonder their food usually ended up being a complete disaster. She rubbed her hand down her face absently and kept that foot of hers lifted and pressed against his plastron as he whined. "Wait, yer makin' what," her face blanched somewhat as she realized just waht he was trying to cook. Lasagna. That was a complicated dish even for seasoned cooks, trying to make it where you had no idea what you were doing, or any idea of how long to cook it or anything just made her feel like her stomach was going to flip flop. He had a laptop, didn't he? He had to have a laptop around there some- there! She spotted one not too far off and turned it on, pulling up a web browser and examining the first page that came to her sight. Uh. Okay, yeah, big busty broads was not something she planned on researching that first time around. She cleared her throat somewhat and realized it was probably Raphael's laptop. Well, he would be fine for now if she borrowed it for a recipe pull up. She managed to find one that wasn't as difficult as the others but still made really decent lasagna, and scooted it toward him, "Den at least use dis, a'ight?" she sighed somewhat, though her head canted a little and her arms folded, "Y'realize dat most recipes call fer eyeballin' some t'ings. How you gonna measure dat, eh?" she sighed, and realized just how flustered he was about it. He really didn't want her doing anything, and for a second, she didn't really know why - at least until he took one of those deep breaths to calm himself down.

He was nervous around her.

He was nervous because - her stomach fluttered a little and she chuckled, arms unfolding to pull a few of her dreads from her face, "Don," she reached over before he could grab any other ingrediants and pulled him to her to give him a big ole smacker-roo on his cheek, "Yer a prince, y'know dat? But, if y'want any help, y'know 'm willin' to, a'ight?" she nuzzled into his cheek affectionately and finally released him so he could work while she sat down at the table to stay out of the way.

"Dat ain't how yous use it..."

"Hey, if my lab scale can accurately measure solvents to the .001 decimal place, it can accurately measure a few spices." Don responded, fixated fully on the task of accurately measuring salt. He’d promised to make dinner, and though he was technically banned from the kitchen after the Great Soup Flood of 04, Donatello had not let that stop him from trying to make dinner for his sort-of-kind-of girlfriend."Do you know how inaccurate modern culinary measurements are? Grams are so much more reliable than teaspoons," Donatello went on, squinting at the scale and carefully picking out a few crystals of salt with a pair of tweezers. 

[thefireflymutant-blog]

SKETCH OFF

thefireflymutant

twinbladeturtle I gotta jet for a party, so this was all I managed to get done today. @ninjutsumistress, nodelinquent, I’ll do another livestream tomorrow at around 11 to work on your requests.  enjoy~

[thefireflymutant-blog]

Don wordlessly handed her the small box, wrapped plainly, but neatly in carefully creased newspaper. "I uh....got you something," He said nervously, feeling like his heart was trying to ram it's way out his throat. "Happy Valentine's day."

"Yous… Yous what?" she blinked several times in mild confusion as she lowered her eyes to the small package in her palms, examining the newspaper wrapping and how, per usual and Donnie flair, it was folded just right and each word was placed just so on each corner and each side. She found herself smiling a little more, though realizing this was, in fact, a Valentine’s Day present, her cheeks flushed somewhat with a slightly wider smile.

"Aw, Don," She held the package in one hand and let her other arm wrap around his neck, pulling him forward and into a warm, grateful hug as she nuzzled her cheek against his, "Thank yous… Neva’ got onna dese b’fore," she continued examining the box excitedly as she finally sat beside him on his work table, carefully pulling the tape free to start the process of opening the present.

[thefireflymutant-blog]

Send my muse one of the following to see how they react:

"Is-- is it meant to be bleeding, that much?"

"Help me."

"Don't touch me!"

"You're a monster."

"Why are we in a graveyard?"

"How long's it been?"

"Do you even know what you've done?"

"Tell me you're sorry."

"Do it for me."

"They're fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and whatever you do... don't blink."

"Good luck."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. It does suck when someone says one thing and does the other, doesn't it?"

"I'm scared."

"I need a doctor."

"Can I help?"

"Excuse you."

"What've you done?"

"What're you doing?"

"How old are you?"

"That's not how you use it..."

[thefireflymutant-blog]

"Don-"

"Hey, if my lab scale can accurately measure solvents to the .001 decimal place-"

"Don, we ain't experimentin', yer makin' ramen... er somethin', y'ain't said yet," Pop sighed, but he was already crouched down at the table and was trying to scour through each grain of salt to make sure they were just perfect. Her hands rested on her hips as her head slowly fell to the side, "Dooooonn."

Nope, no luck.

"Do you know how inaccurate modern culinary measurements are? Grams are so much more reliable than teaspoons," he was still plucking when she finally made her way over and took the salt dispenser away from him, lifting it up and out, as far out of his reach as she possibly could as her foot took to his plastron and kept him poised out of reach from it.

"Don, yous listen t'me. We got measurin' cups 'n da like. Cookin' 's about a lil more faith 'n a lil less science, y'get?" she lifted her hand and using the other got a measuring spoon out of the drawer, or rather, she was looking for one. Her brow furrowed the deeper she dug, and finally started digging around in the other drawers.

"Don, why ain't yous guys got any food measurin' anythin'? I found an old cup but 's got a rainbow on it..." she tilted the glass between her hands and lifted her eyes to meet his with a raised brow, "Maybe... I should jus' make dinner t'night."

"Dat ain't how yous use it..."

"Hey, if my lab scale can accurately measure solvents to the .001 decimal place, it can accurately measure a few spices." Don responded, fixated fully on the task of accurately measuring salt. He’d promised to make dinner, and though he was technically banned from the kitchen after the Great Soup Flood of 04, Donatello had not let that stop him from trying to make dinner for his sort-of-kind-of girlfriend."Do you know how inaccurate modern culinary measurements are? Grams are so much more reliable than teaspoons," Donatello went on, squinting at the scale and carefully picking out a few crystals of salt with a pair of tweezers. 

[thefireflymutant-blog]

Don poured out his heart and she took in every word. She knew how he felt, and now she had a feeling she understood how his brothers felt, too. Being the leader of a rather dangerous huge band of misfits as she was, she had to be on either end of that spectrum on a daily basis. There were times she was worried if her boys would come home, and times they worried if she would. It was a dangerous place they lived in, more so because they were different; Raphael was far more different than she was, so his risk was greater, obviously, but she did understand.

She took in a long, slow breath and let it exhale in a warm whoosh of air, letting her arms stay around the turtle as he continued to absently pull and pick at his fingers. He was angry, upset, and rightfully so. Worrying about his family was going to be the death of him, though, so she let him spill it out as much as possible, let him use her as his soundboard, as his anchor, as his diary or his tissue or whatever he needed. He didn't get it at home, and to carry so much wasn't healthy for anyone, even him. She pressed her cheek against his after a while, his request not falling on deaf ears she smiled and nodded slightly, making their skin brush just slightly together.

"I'll make sure y'get any info I can. If I hear of any weird toitle like stuff, I'll be sendin' it yer way," she didn't move otherwise from their position, not that she really wanted to, either. He was warm, but at the same time, she could feel that chill deep inside of him that resonated whenever he had these moments; these situations where he felt he was completely helpless and just living through life in a rut and a twisted, ironic routine. She knew how hard it was for him to even admit that he felt anything at all to her; that he had to trust her in the first place. For all he knew, she was just a human.

She could turn on him at any second, and it felt like, sometimes, he was always tensing up and bracing himself for it. That he found it more believable that she would stab him in the bac- er - shell, than that she actually would care and understand him, or more so have any feelings for him. It hurt her to some degree, but she accepted whatever he had to give her and she was grateful for it.

Her eyes closed as her arms pulled him closer still, this time not trying to push herself on him, trying to force him into an awkward position like she normally did to tease and taunt at his shyness, no. This was protective, comforting, and... It could almost be akin to something motherly, in a way. She wanted to help him so badly, to take this pain and this worry away from him. She wanted him to live his life, as limited as that would be, instead of always worrying if his brothers were going to be alive the next morning.

"I'll even use dem police scannas y'fixed fer me 'n keep an ear open fer dem, too. Dey report all sortsa' mutant sightin's. 'M sure Raph falls unda dat."

[text] Did you want to go to the park today?

[txt] Huh? Sure babe. What's up? You never text me first.

[thefireflymutant-blog]

"I was dere b’fore, Don, I’ll always be dere," her words came out hushed, though somewhat rushed as she could feel her body reacting to the wound as the pain settled deep into her bones. She could feel every inch of her burning, and it wasn’t from the fire deep within her core, no. This pain was new, something she wasn’t ever going to be used to, though the only time she’d ever felt it before was at the hand of another. She never would have expected such a violent reaction from him. She’d done nothing to warrant it, but at the same time she still felt she deserved it; that he was justified in his reaction to her.

Her arms kept around him, though their grip was slowly growing weaker with each second. She could only be so strong for so long before even she caved. A faint sound of pain escaped, not a whimper, not a yelp or grunt even so much as just, a wounded, choked moan as a hand finally came down to grip into her wound, trying to hold it closed as the pain started making her see stars. Her eyes felt hazy, her entire body felt heavy, and she couldn’t bring herself to fight it anymore. Her coils dropped around him, sinking to the floor as she pulled away and gripped at the table behind him.

A first aid kit. There had to be something.

There had to be something..

She was losing it. As hard as she looked without jostling his things, she couldn’t see anything that resembled a medical kit and she knew she was done for. She let out another sound as her body curled somewhat, and her head turned back to Donnie. He probably had nothing here because he never planned on surviving, or caring if he lived or died for that matter; there was little chance that there’d be anything to help, and now she would have to pay for it, and her crimes. Her abandoning him as much as he had abandoned her.

"I w… Won’t be real… Much longer, S-suga," she smiled weakly and the color drained from her face, arms once holding her upright crumbling under her weight as she finally allowed her mind to be swallowed in the darkness, sending her face first and no longer twitching coils into the filthy, blood soaked floor at their feet.

Lived long enough to become the villain.

He didn’t want to see her.

Donatello stood rigid, face to face with a ghost. Years had gone by and he’d prepared himself for the day when he would face his brothers again, cutting all weaknesses of the heart. It had been surprisingly easy. The fire that had seared him black and raw and turned him into this, was the same one he used to burn the bridges of brotherhood straight into the ground. He thought he was done. Free. He thought he’d planned and prepared for every circumstance.

But she didn’t factor into any of his equations. She never did.

"You shouldn’t be here…" Don hissed low, voice grating like sandpaper. He stuck to the shadows, keeping out of her sight. In three years he’d never been afraid to use his appearance like a weapon, wielding his twisted features like a bludgeon to shock and frighten and triumph. Not until now. He didn’t want her to see. He didn’t want her here at all. "You shouldn’t be here,” Don said again, and this time it was a threat. ”Get out. Now.”

[thefireflymutant-blog]

"If yer so sorry y'wouldn'a done wutcha did," a bitterness was still there for being abandoned in the first place, a mumbled, quiet anger that burned deeply inside of her, but she didn't push him away like he had. She couldn't bring herself to push him away because she'd missed him so much.

She missed their chats while sitting in the tree. Watching joggers and folk walk by and trying to guess what they were, what they were saying, just their stupid games.

She missed skating with him while he was on his board, jumping and parkouring through New York City like the entire town was their damn ramp.

She missed bringing him little trinkets and things she'd find while in the dump or while out and about and how excited he would get, or would pretend to get at getting anything.

She missed him.

She clenched her eyes shut as he started pulling away, half expecting him to just walk off from guilt or anger again, but no, instead he held onto her shoulders and tried so very hard to look her in the eye again. She chanced one eye open, then the other, and saw something she was quite used to seeing on his face.

Fear. Vulnerability. Uncertainty.

Though this fear, it was an actual scared fear more than the obnoxiously adorable shyness he had back then. Now it seemed that shyness was gone and a far more serious emotion had long since taken its place. His hands held her firm as though any second she would disappear if he so much as breathed on her, and she couldn't even hear his words at first.

It's going to be okay.

She snorted softly under her breath, chancing a glance at their surroundings she pulled her hood back and let him get a better look, he was closer now, so he could see those scaly patches, that she was literally changing every second of every day, little by little. She was losing her humanity, though all she had left really was what she remembered, and her very soul itself, her core personality at this point. She inhaled, then exhaled, a slow plume of smoke rising, "... I ain't  scared of wut 'm turnin' into. Ain't much different den you," She lifted her arms and pulled her sleeves back, revealing angry marks on her arms, scars from either battles or burns or what have you, but they had nasty, ugly scales that were darker, more brittle than her skin, jagged like beaded lizard flesh, even.

"'s more 'm scared wut'll happen t'everyone else when 'm done," her eyes stayed on her arms as she displayed them, wrists upturned and revealing several thin marks against the skin that not even the scales could hide. Tiny, about two inch long slice marks that dotted her skin in stripes from the very curve of her palm to about midway up her arm. Things normally bangles and jewelry hid. A shame that she held for many, many years.

Sweetened Bits

He didn’t let go. Not when she tried to pull away, or when she threw words at him like bricks. Not even when everything finally started to crumble and she shuddered against him, still clinging to some desperate need to shoulder it all on her own. He didn’t let go. He knew too well what it was like. To be out of your depth and beyond your league, to face things you weren’t prepared for and didn’t understand, all while the ghost of expectation loomed over your shoulder. You flinched at every stumble. You feared the inevitable fall. And all the while, you had to force yourself to be stone, to stand unmoving and tall, praying that no one would ever see the telltale signs of the cracks.

He didn’t let go. He’d done so once. He wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself for that.

“I’m sorry…” Don’s eyes were screwed closed, beak pressed into her crown. He stroked her hair, a steady, soothing rhythm. “I’m so sorry…”

He should have been there. Should have been there to help. Should have been there to support.

He should have just been there. For her. If for nothing else, than for her.

Slowly, like it pained him, Don pulled back. He gripped her shoulders, looking her in the eyes with naked fear, still afraid of so much- but it wasn’t going to stop him this time. He was determined. It couldn’t get in the way. He wouldn’t let it. She needed him too much for that and seeing Pop like this, assailed by unexplained contaminants, changing in unpredictable ways…

It made him realize that he needed her more.

“It’s going to be okay…” He kept looking at her, squeezing her shoulders and willing her to believe. “We’ll figure something out.”

[thefireflymutant-blog]

[[AW HELL. Those arm tats, I absolutely love this, Mel! Thank ya so much!]]

[[Late birthday present for thefireflymutant  Pop and Donnie being absolute dorks. Or rather, Pop being awesome, and Donnie being a dork ;3  I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. It looks like they were working on some kind of mechanic thing.]]

[thefireflymutant-blog]

"I know," she frowned at his exceptionally light scolding, but still. She'd seen more bad than good from most adults, though the teenagers and children still had a chance if they were ripped out of the trash-heap that they called their lives before it was too late. She sighed as her hand pressed to her face only for several seconds, thinking to her little brood she had currently living in the small home a ways away from the van where she lived, letting them keep that house and the electricity and the water and plumbing and all of the amenities that they needed and letting herself live in squalor.

She was always one to give and give while others always took from her. However, now wasn't exactly the time to be ho-humming about her past, he started his little trip down Stutterlane and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud at him. Each time he tried to think of a way of not sounding like he was insulting her, he just insulted her more! Or admitted to having some sort of attraction to her or just being an all around little nerdling that he was.

She lifted her hand and let her head tilt to rest against her cheek, tapping her fingers against her temple as her brows rose and a smile started spreading across her face, "Don."

She reached over once he started whining, cupping either side of his face to trap him and actually rub her nose against the end of his beak, "I ain't makin' yous do nuttin'. Dat's alll you," she let a soft laugh escape, leaning back somewhat and letting herself settle against the branches once more, "'s adorable, too."

And there came that disarming wink again, glasses perched on her nose once more as she settled in to the darkness a bit better. He wanted to keep himself hidden, even if she could see him clear enough now that she knew what he looked like; her mind's eye just filled in the blanks as he flustered and flushed at her.

Until we Meet Again

"Dey’re stupid ‘n should be grateful yous did anyt’ing for um,"

The amount of venom Pop managed to squeeze into those eleven words was enough to make Don hesitate. He fixed her with that same puzzled look he’d leveled at her before, only now he truly seemed to be trying to gaze right through her. He wondered what on earth had happened during her short life to have filled her with that kind of bitterness.

“They’re people,” He said, by way of quiet explanation. “Capable of the worst things you can imagine. And the best. Complex. Like a lot of things.”

Namely the girl sitting before him with a self assured exterior that seemed to falter, for the breath of a heartbeat, on the subject of the inscrutable nature of her eyes. The more he stared the more he sure he was that it was not the moonlight, that there was something odd here that he hadn’t noticed before-

But ‘cool, collected scientist’ had nothing on ‘awkward teenage boy’. It took but a single smile and a few cheeky words for Don’s focus to crumble like a piece of cheap glass.

“What!?” He jerked back so fast, he nearly knocked himself out of the tree. If not for years of training, he would have. “No!” Don said, a little too quickly. He blanched, realizing the folly of that single word.

“I-I mean, not that you’re NOT pretty, I just don’t think you are- No! No, what I mean is, that I do think you’re pretty, but that’s not why I was- I wasn’t going to SAY it,”

”Kill me now…”

Ooooh, he could feel himself digging himself into a hole. 6 feet deep and still chugging. He found the good sense to shut his mouth, sneaking a mortified glance at Pop. She had her glasses off. Whatever he thought he’d seen, he could see no traces of it now. He found himself staring again, this time in bewilderment. But…No, he hadn’t imagined that… He was sure-

"Though if yer gonna say m’eyes sparkle like da stars, I ain’t gonna stop ya."

Glad for the darkness, Don didn’t want to think about how stupid he must have looked as the coquettish wink sent him blundering all over again.

“I-I wasn’t! I’m telling you, it wasn’t because they’re pretty- Not that I’m saying they’re NOT pretty, I-”

Still diiigging that hole…

Don gave a tormented whine, face palming his own futility. “Stop making me DO that!”

Straight down to China.

[thefireflymutant-blog]

She saw the flinch, felt him recoil suddenly from her and she immediately replaced her hoodie in the upright position. She couldn't - no, she wouldn't handle it, deal with it, even. It was too much for her to think that now even he was repulsed by her. She closed her eyes tightly as her fingers gripped into her hood and she turned away from him completely.

What made her stay those extra few seconds, she wasn't sure, but it gave Donnie enough time to suddenly hug onto her tightly and mumble against her crown. Her eyes squeezed shut and she felt her hands shaking as they came to his coat, or whatever he was wearing as some sort of pitiful disguise, gripping the material for several seconds and then just falling limp against him, "Don't, please... Jus' don't..."

She shook her head against him and even tried pulling away from him; fear to pity in less than ten seconds, that was a new low for her. She kept her eyes closed and a fist came up to give a single pound against his plastron, "Y'ain't s'possed t'be pityin' me, d-don'chu do it," she couldn't keep her voice from cracking again, knowing it was a sign of weakness. She had to be strong, after all; what if he just left again? He could just walk away the second he got scared again and she refused to bear that.

She couldn't.

She cleared her throat, "Gotcherself an eyeful, eh?" she snorted, again trying to regain what little composure she could, "'s what happens when y'go all quiet like. T'ings change, y'know?" she turned her head away as he refused to let her go, knowing she had no other choice but to be trapped in his arms; not that she wasn't willing, even if she was ashamed of herself and what she was turning into.

Sweetened Bits

Time stopped.

Don drew his hand back. His eyes were fixed on Pop’s face, frozen there.

It was wrong. Her face was simply wrong, familiar but foreign all at once. He watched it contort, shifting with snake like venom.

"Cocky lil shit, thinkin’ yous can jus’ disrobe me like dat," 

And though he didn’t mean to, though it was the fault of instinct, though he regretted it the minute his body reacted before his mind could make it stay, Don flinched back.

Dear God…. dear God, April had been right. More right than she knew. His mind was reeling. How did this happen? How on earth did Pop come into contact with mutagen?

The how….the why. For once it didn’t matter. Don simply stared, and all at once every barefisted defense he had, every reinforced wall, melted around him in waves. He stepped towards her, and whether she wanted it or not, he suddenly had her trapped, his arms wrapped tight around her in a fierce, shaking hug.

“Oh, Pop…” He shuddered to think of how long she’d been like this. How long he’d gone without knowing. But maybe now…maybe if she could somehow find it in her to forgive him, maybe he could fix it.

[thefireflymutant-blog]

She rolled her eyes, taking the pills from him and putting it back into her pocket, she instead did a quick pour and serve of the whiskey, "I know it ain't a good brand er nuttin', butcha need somet'in cuz I gotta either stitch dis up er suture it, 'n neither a'dem are gonna be pleasant when yer already bruisin' dis bad," she frowned as she examined the wound a bit closer, actually having snagged a pair of his little makeshift glasses and using it like a magnifier to start her work. She sighed, a small puff of smoke escaping as she took to the kit once more.

She looked to him then, "Take it," she even lifted the glass up at him, about nearly shoving it in his beak as she waited. She wasn't going to start the worst part until she knew he was at least a little buzzed. That and he would be less likely to tense up so she could stitch it properly without his body tearing the stitches during normal daily activities. She took to the cleansing materials and made a face at the smell of the chemicals; well, if he hadn't tried using a motor oil rag, she wouldn't have to do this so much. However..

She took a deep breath for him, and took to cleaning it, though as she did, she immediately began exhaling against the wound as the cleansing fluids took their tole against his wounds, trying to dry it and keep the stinging to a bare minimum in the process. It was something that her mother had done for her as a child when she'd scraped her knee or something else along those lines and, well, it jsut came to her to do something like that for him, too. He was already in enough pain after all, right?

Her breath was warm, heated by her inner core as she went to get the other materials, carefully examining each side of the wound and looking up to him shortly after, "Imma have t'sew dis up. Can't have a huge open wound like dis, but I can suture it afta I sew it. Thread ain't gonna melt on ya since y'got good stuff at least fer dat," she waited to make sure he'd at least got the shot down before putting her sewing skills to work. Without missing a beat, she started the stitching process. It took maybe three minutes at most as she moved quickly, stitching as was necessary instead of overdoing it and making needless pain as she kept the wound pressed together. As taut as it was drawn, was the biggest issue, thankful that most of the meat hadn't split to the point of leaving a huge, gaping wound.

She was covered from her fingertips to her elbows in a mixture of blood, oil, and chemicals, though she didn't seem to know nor care as she worked, pouring the fluids on her hands every now and then to clean them so she could work unhindered.

My character is trying to refuse medical treatment for a very serious injury. Try to convince them otherwise.

Don decided to be a good little turtle and stay right where he was. Aside from the fact that he didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to, he knew that Pop’s warnings were never one to be taken lightly and the glare she leveled on him even after he swore to stay put, promised him that she was making no idle threat.

You know, maybe if he wasn’t in pain right now, he’d actually enjoy testing her…

His thoughts (Blood loss, tooootally blood loss) were interrupted as Pop reappeared at his side, setting two items beside him. The first, he recognized. It was a cheap bottle of whiskey he kept in his on-field first aid kit, introduced as an important add on after that one time Raph broke his arm during a fight with the Foot, and the longest twenty minutes it took to reset it. He met Pop’s questioning look with a shrug.

“For emergencies…” He said.

The pills, however, were new. He had to blink a few times to make out the name, at which point it was his turn to give Pop the questioning look. It was clear that she expected him to pick one. He glanced between the two, unencouraged by Pop’s prompting.

“I can…I can manage.” Pop was right. There was no telling what the pills would do. He knew a few that he’d used in the past that were safe, but there was no telling when you mixed an opioid with mutant turtle anatomy. And as for the whiskey- Just the smell of that stuff was enough to burn the back of his throat, he didn’t want to think of what drinking it would do.

“M’good.” Don insisted (wincing and clutching the edges of the chair, despite Pop’s gentlest efforts). “Don’t waste it…just…get the worst over with.”

[thefireflymutant-blog]

She knew where the kit was for the most part, if not she knew how to find it, but she also knew how little patience this stubborn turtle had in him. Her eyes remained narrowed at him for several seconds more until he finally settled down. In the meantime, she pulled one of those purple ribbons of hers free of her hair, taking it to right behind his knee after removing his knee pad and tying it nice and tight to cut off the blood from flowing too much more.

She spotted where he was motioning toward and made her way to the small cabinet. Inside she found everything they needed, as well as a ... Was that a bottle of whiskey? It was barely touched, so she assumed it was medicinal, but judging from the brand she could understand why it hadn't been touched. She shook her head as she took it, the shot glass, and the kit with towel in hand, "All right. Yer gonna have t'take dis, den," she waggled the bottle at him, "Or ya could take da painkillers I got, but I ain't sure if dey're turtle friendly," she fumbled about inside of her jacket and pulled out an actual prescription (For her even) of Loritab. What it was for, she hadn't really spoken about but one pill was enough to knock your ass out.

She sat down across from him, setting the loritab beside him, "Take it dry, don't take it wit dat slop," she knew she needed to get to work, first thing was cleaning since the makeshift tourniquet was working just fine. She carefully took an alcohol swab and started cleaning around the wound, careful of bruising and surprisingly gentle compared to how she usually manhandled him. The wound was cleaned around it, though now she had to clean the inside, "Gonna hurt like hell, hurry up 'n pick, babe."

My character is trying to refuse medical treatment for a very serious injury. Try to convince them otherwise.

“Motor belt,” Don hissed, pressing the towel tight against the gash. It was hardly the most hygienic thing he had on hand, dirty with motor oil and grease, as was every inch of him, and only now was Donatello considering the implications. Shit, that was smart.

“Snapped….It was due…to be replaced but I thought it had a couple more months in it… at the least,” He threw aside the rag, immediately regretting it. His leg was doing its best impression of a slow fountain and his hands were hardly the best way to contain it. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to get up so he could hobble over to where he kept the first aid kit, but Pop was having none of that.

“I got it,” He did not have it in the slightest, but stubbornness was a disease born of stupid decisions at the worst of times, and the pained fog settling in his head was doing him few favours. He once again tried to get up, only to find himself promptly manhandled back down, Pop’s eyes narrowed.

"Don, if yous don’ settle down, Imma give yous hickeys all over yer neck ‘n shoulders ‘n tell yer bruddas exactly wut dey are, now sit!”

“But-” Don opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. Common sense might have gone out the window, but self preservation was alive and well. “M’not gonna move…just get me a…thing- Towel,” He corrected, shutting his eyes tight and muffling a groan. His luck was crap today. “First aid kit too.”

[thefireflymutant-blog]

She snorted slightly, turning around once again, though she felt a hand at her hood. She had no intention of saying anything, just rolling away in silence just as he had ran away from her, but she had only managed an inch or two when the hood was suddenly pulled back and she was exposed. Her hand and arm flew up immediately, hiding her morphed face from view and trying all the more to pull her other free.

"Cocky lil shit, thinkin' yous can jus' disrobe me like dat," she hissed, trying to keep herself hidden from view but her arm just wasn't enough. Her face was littered with scales, freckled and dotted across her cheeks and nose, the nose itself slimmer, flatter even against her face. The nostrils were barely noticeable form the slits, and her lips were slightly scaled, no longer wearing that rainbow look but a black color to make it as little of a distraction as possible. Most thought she was just being an emo little goth kid or something, but no.

She was hiding.

He'd see the underplating forming just under her chin, a small peak flaring out slowly the further down it went across her form deeper into the hoodie that still hid most of her body from view at least. Her legs were weaker than they used to be, no longer holding that strong muscle they used to from the calf down into the skates, though her hips and thighs seemed to have that same thick, muscular meat on them. She was misshapen in a way, wearing darker clothes made it less noticeable, but to someone like Donatello, he'd notice. He'd memorized everything about her, after all, there was no way he wouldn't notice.

Maybe that was why she took no time in simply accepting he'd abandoned her. At least then he would remember her as she was, not like this.

Sweetened Bits

“‘course ‘m okay. ‘m used t’bein’ lonely at da top, ain’t nothin’ I cant handle on m’own. ‘s my job, ain’t it? Always gotta be strong. Always gotta protect… Always gotta keep folks away,”

It was a sharp jab, like a punch. He winced, ducking his eyes. How could he dare even look at her?

But he had to.

He had to because that answer told him everything about how fine Pop truly was. He knew stubborn denial when he saw it. He knew because he was guilty of it, with his brothers, with his father- with her. In the beginning, always with her. And yet unlike the others, she saw through him, pushed her way to the truth. There was nothing he could hide from Pop. He learned that quick enough. But after spending so many nights in her company, there was little Pop could hide from him either.

Masks were never her thing.

“That’s not what I meant.” Don said. He looked at her, pleading. Her hand felt coarse in his, like sandpaper. “I just want to know if you’re okay. If you’re in trouble… if something’s happened or…” He cut off, swallowing a breath like it was water. “Listen, I’m…I’m sorry. I just…”

Panicked, Freaked out, couldn’t use logic and reason to decipher the serendipity that brought to him someone so vital and wonderful, when he was nothing but a freak, an outcast, someone who existed as a cognitive, rational being because of some accident of science. He didn’t know how to voice dark thoughts like those. Thoughts that only ever snuck up on him when he saw something that he couldn’t have because of what he was.

“I’ve never done this before, okay? And I know that’s not an excuse but you have to understand. Trouble finds us. It always has. It always will. And…and I know you can handle yourself, this isn’t some misguided attempt at chivalry,-” He rambled, the words falling clunky from his lips. How do you explain Fear incarnate?

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you, okay?”

He looked at her, catching her eyes as they glimmered beneath the shadows of her hood. Even after everything, he missed those eyes. He missed them so-

Something seized him. A nagging detail; something wasn’t right. Without warning, he reached for her hood.