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*cracks Knuckles* - Blog Posts
I’m trying to work on this bnha Coraline AU and I severely underestimated my desire to make the Baku-family sweet and wholesome and happy lol
any suggestions for details you’d like to see in later chapters?
listening to Laufey is not helping
okay idk if it's just me but i am pathetically wishing for a partner rn
and like, more than anything, to HAVE THEM IRL
i wanna cuddle😭🥲
larian wheres the romance scene that we help him braiding?
reblog this and put in the tags what kind of content you watch on youtube
New Person of the Month!!
It's Kou's month!! Yay!!
Submission form ^^
The new tag will be #kou month doodles ><
I can't wait for your submissions yayay!!
(i've been real excited frfr omg kou ships... send them in yes... send them in....)
ITS A BABEH!!!!
Toddler Leo (One-Shot request)
I can't remember how exactly this came about anymore, but it's here. I would like to give special thanks to @thelaundrybitch for coming up with the idea and then letting me write it. Beware the diabetes.
One-shot, pure fluff, Rise Leo, set in main timeline (AU?)
You're not sure what to think about when you get the messages. You're even less certain when you call after work and the only thing you get is, "Please get down here right this second" and nothing else. However, the thing that worries you the most isn't the fact that Donatello seems to be ordering you around or the fact that your best friend seems to be panicking. That seems par for the course for the Hamatos. No, what worries you is the lack of messages from a certain someone that makes your heart squeeze.
He's gotten good with his timing. Incredible, in fact. He never asked, but nowadays, it feels like the second you get up for lunch at work, there's a message waiting for you. He bugs you with everything and anything, from memes to heartfelt messages that always manage to make you smile, even giggle sometimes. But there was nothing today. Not even the start of the conversation you have to sadly shoot down because someone thought it was a good idea to occupy your lunch with a meeting.
So, it's with a heavy heart and worry on your mind that you step into the lobby of the Lair.
"LEO! DON'T RUN!"
Only to blink as you hear Raph shout, you barely catch a blue streak zip up the stairs, and you flinch as a weight hits your legs, making you look down.
… Is that…? There's — There's no goddamn way.
You watch as the snapping turtle makes it up the stairs only to sigh when he sees you. He, thankfully, doesn't hesitate to approach you, just holds up his hand in greeting, which you return before watching the hulking man sit and make himself as small as possible before speaking in a tone that can only make you smile.
"Leo, you need to let go."
"No!"
"Leo –"
"NO!"
Although… you can't help but blink at the name and the voice you're hearing.
"Leon?"
And the fact that the blue-covered head finally moves to let you see lime green and red…
"Eya."
…
Oh dear god.
You watch as Leo unglues himself from your leg and brings his arms up. You look at Raph in confusion.
“What happened?”
“Donnie. He’s working on a solution.”
“Is this linked to the Empyrean?”
And the snapping turtle’s acquiescence gets cut off by quiet hiccups, making you look down and feel your heart almost shatter.
His eyes are watery. Leo is trying so very hard not to cry but he wants up. And you can’t…
You kneel and open your arms. The intelligent boy picks up on it immediately and, after a blink, rushes into your arms and settles his head into the crook of your neck as you lift his surprising heavy body off the ground.
“It’s the shell,” Raph explains and you believe it. He’s not particularly pudgy although he seems well-fed, but the weight doesn’t match.
Although, considering how fast he settles down in your arms, you’re not sure you mind. No, you don’t mind at all when you feel a tiny rumble against yourself.
Churring. He’s so damn cute.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He refuses to let go of you.
You want to say that you’re surprised with him refusing to let you help with dinner, but if you’re honest…
“Leon, I gotta help your brother.”
“No!”
“You want to eat late?”
Considering his current age, to not expect him to be glued to you would be wishful thinking. Certainly when the second question gets indignant chirping galore Mikey understands and translates.
You were missing all week. It’s his turn.
Not even two and already acting like a drama queen. You want to be angry but the fact that he insists on both staying on your lap during dinner all while eating on his own is too endearing to get mad at. Not to mention that he does seem to somewhat understand boundaries ‘cause he asks for Raph when you talk about getting ready for bed only to stick to you when you’ve showered and changed.
Little glue pot. Who is still incredibly brotherly as he points you to the Lab and has a chirpy argument with Donnie through the intercom about sleeping.
The fact that the softshell actually comes out is a testament to Leo's persuasion, certainly with how proud he looks in your arms. He, unfortunately, loses much of that pride as you get to his room, and not only does he insist that you sleep with him, but he tries climbing over you several times and complains so loudly every time you move him back to where he was, it catches Raph's attention who, thankfully, explains.
It's something you know Leo has been doing for months, now. Whenever you share the same bed, he insists on having an arm around you or sliding halfway atop you. Either way, it leads to the same thing, you wake up with him holding you tightly in his arm while he covers you with himself. At first, you thought it was out of being touch-starved. Now, after everything you read and him still doing it, you're thinking it's a dominance thing. It's neither. In fact, it's something much simpler.
His shell. Doesn't matter if there's damage, his shell and skin are stronger than yours. And he's protective. Extremely so as he tries again while you're distracted with his brother and you still catch him, leading to him trying to nip your fingers and forcing you to gently hit his beak with a "None of that."
He whines, then, rubbing his head against your hand while his eyes fill with tears. You barely notice Raph leaving as you try to reason with him, eventually boiling it down into the simplest fashion you can while putting his hand against his.
He's usually so much bigger. Leo might not be too much taller than you, but he is surprisingly broad despite how agile he is and his hands engulf yours. You can barely see the color of your skin in the lime-green of his, usually.
Not now. Now, your hand makes his disappear. Your skin is all you can see. And light hiccupping is all you can hear as just how helpless he is sinks into you.
He can't protect you. Not right now. That's your job. Until he's back to normal, you and his brothers have to make sure he's safe, happy, and, above all, loved.
You hold him close. Bring him against your chest before placing a pillow underneath him to make sure he's comfortable as he holds onto you. You listen to him churr as you scratch his head and shell while promising him security and protection. And while you're not sure he completely gets it, you know he's understanding some of it as he holds onto your shirt like a lifeline, leaving you to wonder one thing.
Is this… how he wishes he could behave? Or something close?
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Something close. Definitely something close from the fact that he wakes you up in the middle of the night with his screaming and crying and he looks like such a mess as you hold him tight against you. You doubt he wants you to hear the hiccupping he's unable to hold back or that wants you to see him as anything but strong. You doubt he enjoys the fact that he woke you up, no matter how little you care, and promise him that it's fine as you take him to the kitchen for a cup of warm milk. And nothing makes that more obvious than you waking up to an already awake Leo whom you can only smile gently at.
"Hey Leon."
Along with the fact that he immediately nuzzles against your hand as you hold it out.
"Did you sleep?”
A nod.
“After we came back from the kitchen?”
A very hesitant nod.
It's harder to lie, to deflect. Not to mention he's trying to lie to you, something you've had more than a hint of him disliking. However, it does tell you how ingrained the habits are and how soon Leo had to learn that sacrificing himself… could be necessary.
You just hope you know the perfect way to return the favor as you send texts to Mikey and Raph before settling into the bed a little more.
"How about we sleep in, then? I just cleared my day."
From the way his eyes light up at the offer before you find yourself tackled by someone half your size, you'd say you're not doing a bad job of it.
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You wish you were surprised when it turns partially into show-and-tell. You can only chuckle when Leo races through the room to bring you stuff he babbles and chirps about. And you smile fondly when, eventually, he brings over the book you've gotten him and, after triumphantly stating, "Eya book!" he lies with you to look at the images while you read the text aloud. But it's the way he cuddles against you as you speak that has your heart skipping around. Not to mention that he only snuggles closer when you quiet your voice to a hum and let him settle against your chest, breathing deepening by the second.
You know better than to stop. You might have only raised four-year-olds, but you remember their behavior skirting with this one, certainly after a nightmare or an awful day, and you're not about to leave Leo to suffer to his demons. You already can't let him when he's older, how can you now?
You help him settle a little better as he stretches and tries to snuggle closer, likely looking for warmth. You smile as he sleepily chirps.
“I wuv you, Eya.”
But there’s no helping the blink as you hear him whisper against you. No stopping your racing heart and fond smile as you wrap a protective arm around him, murmuring, “I love you, too, Leon."
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You jolt as you hear screaming, shouting and tumbling throughout the lair. You notice the lack of weight against you and hear a very familiar three-letter word accompanied with some surprisingly familiar words as well.
“Leo! Get back here!”
“No!”
And you sigh, almost resigned to the mess you’re about to find as you step out, wondering what trouble the little chaos demon has managed to get himself into.
You blink when all you see are color-coded blurs. The blue one turns the corner so sharply, you wonder if you’re still sleeping until another blur, red one this time, does the same thing, reminding you of where you are. You sigh as you make your way up and blink at the absolute mess the lobby is in, recognizing the spots Leo might have thought he was safe before his brother tried to extricate him out of hiding.
Are you surprised that, upon his return to the lobby, he’s taken to the heights this time? Nope. In fact, you just sigh as Raph shouts at Leo who is absolutely refusing to leave his perch in the bar. It’s not until the little menace tries to get away and knocks a bottle off the shelves that they seem to realize how dangerous this is becoming as your heart nearly stops.
Oh no.
You can hear the crying before it starts. You’re still not ready for the chirps that mix with it as Raph realizes he can’t reach Leo, at least not without breaking the bar. However, the distress you see across that tear-streaked face is enough to make you move, thankfully easing Raphael's worry but not quite working on Leo's nerve, even as you step into the bar, round the shattered bottle, and hold yourself under the slider with open arms.
"It's okay, Leon. Come on."
It takes everything for you to stay calm as he cries louder, holding out his tiny hands towards you. You can't reach him. You're not tall enough. But he can jump down.
"Come on, big guy. Just a jump. I got you."
The distressed chirps make you want to cry. You have to keep smiling, though. You have to keep steady. He needs a rock, and you're the only one who can reach him.
"I gotcha. Te tengo, Leonardo. Jump."
He does. You buckle a little under his weight but hold steady as he hiccups before crying while gripping your shirt like a lifeline. You turn around to an apologetic Raph who gingerly points to what Leon has clasped in his right hand and the fact that the latter immediately lets it go to put his arms around your neck doesn't surprise you in the slightest. What does is the cause of the mess.
"A Lou Jitsu action figure?" you ask as you hand it over to the sighing snapper.
"Got it from Dad's room."
… Oh. You smile, even giggle as you half-rock the hiccupping Leon in your arms.
"Did you want to show it to me?"
Only to chuckle as you feel the faintest hint of a nod against your neck. This little rascal.
"Want me to take him off your hands?" Raph suggests and you shake your head.
"I have —! What… happened here?"
Before you can answer, though, the softshell appears in the lobby holding a vial you only hope is the solution to the mess.
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You're not surprised when quiet is all that finds you when you slide open the train car door. You almost expect him to pull back the second you lie in the bed next to him, something he does before you put a hand over his.
"You okay?"
However, you're glad when all that finds you instead of the lies he's been spewing as he helped fix the mess he created is silence.
He's not in the mood to lie. Not to you. Yet, he's also not wanting to talk about the past few hours and, honestly, you can't blame him.
"We don't have to –"
"I don't get you."
Although, you're not sure what to make of the remark, blinking at it.
"Leon?"
"I don't understand. I don't… I should have…"
"You didn't."
"Why not?"
"You were a child?"
"Not –"
"If you're about to say excuse, I'm going to get Raph to beat some sense into you. Besides, I raised twins."
He falls quiet, looking unsure. You squeeze his hand, not expecting but still getting one you almost want to laugh at as he brings you in and lays atop you.
Shielding you from the world. Keeping you safe. And, as you feel him freeze over you while you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer, so touch-starved he nearly melts over you when you start scratching his nape and the base of his skull.
The churrs are so incredibly deep, you can feel them reverberate through you. It's beautiful.
"You'd make a wonderful mother."
It's not as heart-racing as his comment, though, your mind wondering if he means it, if he's thinking about it as he kisses and murmurs against your cheek.
"I love you, estrella mía."
You won't know now, though. Not yet. Patience is key and he needs his sleep.
You lean your head against his as you whisper your reply, "I love you, too, Leon."
Taglist:
@silverwatergalaxy @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @luckycharms1701 @thepinkpanther83
@avery73 @the-cauldron-witch @redsrooftopprincess @iridescentflamingo @ninnosaurus
@milykins @yorshie @justalotoffanfiction @truffle-reblogs @adebauchedsloth
My reaction to this comic. I literally waited ALL day to come home from work to take this picture because this was just too real and raw for me not to be real myself to show how much it shook me
so face reveal sorta?
I can’t tell you how much closure I’ve received watching this 😪🙏🏼🫶🏼🧡
✨Note to self: Isolation is not the answer✨
This ended up way longer than I originally anticipated but I have no regrets, I also got carried away in one too many shots and regret none of it
Enjoy!
part1 | part2 | part3 | part 4 context: 1 / 2/ 3 / 4
After calming down the two of them just sit down and talk about it, Oneion explains everything more calmly, all the messures his brothers have taken to prevent him going into Survival Mode along with the ways they've find out to snap him out or fully stop him
(From then on Sprout has a high voltage taser intalled on his prostethic, just in case)
This is pretty much it on my part for the whole OneOne-Toast fight aftermath situation! Ell did a thing with One and Poptart too!
I also have some more Sprout and Oneion doodles, they are not connected to this event but I might post them over the weekend
My reactions after reading this
Makes me think of a poem from a friend actually🤔
Vent piece, AU, Rise Leo, Angst
It’s cold in here. Even in pants, sneakers, and a hoodie, the chill of the planetarium still eats at him a little. He’s okay with it, though. It’s not quite enough for brumation, which is the important part. He doesn’t need to completely lose track of everything. He just needs… peace.
And, as he lies across the floor while staring up at the star-covered ceiling, he’s sure he’s found it. He’s certain that, if only for a moment or two, he is finally allowed to rest. Finally able to think of something else than his work, his constant running around, his never-ending parade of personas. Hell, he can almost feel himself drift into nothingness as the light music he hears cradles him to near sleep.
It's always nice, always comfortable, always –
He blinks as he hears rustling. Someone sits in a chair in front of where he’s lying on the floor. And while he wants to call it an accident, his nostrils tell him it's not.
The scent of subtle soap and warm skin. The rustle of pants as legs are crossed and brought apart again. The chair squeaks at the attempt to settle in it, but nervousness is keeping its current occupant from getting comfortable.
He wishes he could say the same. Unfortunately, the cold has a good grip on him and while he’s not brumating, he definitely feels sluggish.
Not that you’ll attack him. You have no way to defend yourself save for a can of pepper spray — the thing smells absolutely vile — and from the presentations he’s seen you give, you don’t have a mean bone in your body, which just… helps.
“Want to stay for the video?”
The thing that impresses him is the way you’ve just… made this look as casual as possible while letting him know several things.
One, you know he’s there. How you caught him when he always takes for the grates the second you have a new group is a mystery — there’s hours, a schedule, and he’s got it all down — but you did. Second, you’ve known for a while. The lack of inflection in your tone indicates experience and redefines your nervousness as one of casual approach. Three, … he just wants to turn his brain off. He wishes he couldn’t understand or care about how an employee knows about his presence and hasn’t called the authorities yet. He knows he could deal with them, certainly if he were a little warmer, but this? This goddamn circus? He’s here to get off work, not…
He sighs. Shuffles. He owes you an answer. He just…
“Knock on the back of my seat for a yes.”
He looks up, away from the stars to you. Your back is facing him, then again he’s in a weird position that puts his head near the seat. He could say nothing, not even knock and watch you squirm. He could crack a joke, say something that might make you laugh or groan as he attempts socializing.
But right now… he just can’t be assed.
He reaches up and knocks against the plastic. You just say thank you and stay there for a bit longer before you get up to rummage for something near the projector. There’s shuffling in the chair you were just seated in before he hears you take off for the doors.
Time for the next group. He wonders if he should stay. If he should do what he usually does and skedaddle before anyone notices there’s a bum on the floor. But when everyone steers clear of the seat, therefore him, he has to wonder what’s going on. What you did to manage it so that, when the lights fade out and he hears rustling, he knows it’s you.
You don’t speak. The video is a speaking one after all. It does make him wonder, though. Even long after the video’s done and he’s left to stare at the stars again, he wonders what just happened and if he should care. He’s not complaining, though, not after getting to finally see the visuals, albeit from an interesting angle.
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It doesn’t stop him from returning, either.
It’s been a week. He’s debated whether or not it’s worth risking his neck, his family’s neck over someone knowing he’s using the planetarium as his way to relax. He’s wondered if he shouldn’t tell the fam, or at least his little brother, to make sure it’s safe.
But that would mean letting everyone know. That would mean having to deal with that mess and he honestly… doesn’t want to.
He's tired. He’s done. His brothers, even his dad, have completely drained him dry of anything he could remotely care about. So he goes without hesitating.
He navigates lunch hour and watches the shift change. He flinches as your loud coworker laughs and jokes, reminding him of himself in the most obnoxious way. So much so that he half-wants to punch them for being so annoying. He waits on the floor instead, though, and is grateful when you join him the second they leave, leaving him to knock on your chair.
This behavior is more befitting his twin. He doesn’t care.
“Sorry for that. For what it's worth, the next group should all be teenagers, so no crying children.”
He knows. Presentation hours are for classes. Field trips. And while you don’t necessarily struggle during them, depending on the class, it can get disgustingly loud. Even when teenagers are involved.
He knocks on the chair again. You laugh a little before sighing, “I’m sorry I have to ask you to go. I am getting a break later on, though. If you want to stick around until then, I’ll be happy to show you some interesting features.”
And the tridactyl hand he’s been using to knock on your seat grips his hoodie as he thinks, debates.
He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. No matter how innocent you are, the mere knowledge of who he is could ruin your existence and his. He’s not here to make friends.
… But the company is nice.
His hand hesitates for a second longer before he knocks. You then hush him away and he goes to the vent where he watches you work and barely get to breathe when you get two classes back to back. And he quietly lets himself in after all the hubbub, laying on the floor as you sit with a breath into the chair he knocks on.
The fact that it gets him a chuckle almost makes him smile. The fact that hears you tap the seat next to you worries him.
“Come on. Best seat in the house,” you tell him, though, and while it doesn’t convince him, it does make him move, make him join you even as the seat creaks under his weight. It has him making sure that you can’t see his face or his hands as he sits next to you. Not that you seem to care, though, as your eyes are fixed on the ceiling and your hands fiddle with a small contraption you immediately bring forward and click on once he’s there.
The lights turn off. The domed ceiling goes from evening to night, showing the stars. And, with another click, lines start drawing themselves across the artificial sky, connecting the stars into groups and images slowly appear, making him blink.
Constellations. He’s heard you talking about those. But thanks to the light pollution, the most he’s been able to spot are the brightest stars and, if he’s lucky, the Summer Triangle. Now, he’s finally able to see them.
He almost gets up. He doesn’t. The moment feels too sacred to break. You seem to notice the shift, though, as he can hear you smile when you speak.
“This is the Greek one, which was eventually taken over by the Romans. There are more, though. The Babylonians had an incredible star chart they left behind, explaining what they saw and why it was important to them. The Mayans had one also, and it's been suggested that other Central American cultures might have either used the same map or had their own variations to it. The most interesting one, though, is the Asian one. Western influence was scarce, so their system works very differently even today."
… Ah. He gets it, now. It's almost funny, too, and enough to make him smile. Make almost reach out in the hopes that you understand that you either don't need to share or that he's grateful. He can't do either, though. No matter how much the world wants to think that there's space for everyone, the fact that he's underground, that the Hidden City exists tells him otherwise. He can't let himself do anything but speak, and breaking the silence feels like blasphemy.
"… Thank you."
He still does it, though. Not for his sake but yours. You need to know he appreciates it, even if some of it is going completely over his head.
"No problem."
Because it's worth the softness that invades your tone. Even if it requires more effort than he has energy for, the payoff gives him just a little more than he thought he'd be given. And he likes that. God, does he.
"Anything you want to see?"
"The star map without the images?"
Because if this is all it takes to get this to work as you click and the images disappear, then he's more than willing to try.
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Unfortunately, winter does not seem to agree.
Brumation becomes a problem. His hoodie is no longer enough, but wearing anything else might hinder his movements in the vents. He can't afford to lose the agility, but he knows that, if he's not careful, he might knock out.
Something you seem to notice as well.
Within a month of winter starting, he finds a blanket waiting outside the vent. His careful thanks only get him even more wrapped inside the surprisingly thin yet cozy fleece blanket as you fuss over him while never once looking up as he's asked you to. It doesn't help that every time, you simply smile after he tells you that he's comfortable, tapping a hand against his plastron.
"Good. Wouldn't want you to pass out."
Which only reminds him of what he's doing and how… he's treating this entire relationship.
No doubt you're getting bored. Annoyed, even. Not that you've told him as such and he doubts he'd ever hear you complain, but he doesn't think he's being fair in any way, certainly considering that he's been keeping this up for weeks.
He doesn't hate you. He hopes you know that. It's just… he comes here when everything is just too much. And you pampering him… is just part of it, now.
"Hold?"
"Yeah."
You joining him on the floor between presentations as he buries his face into your side. Him whimpering, trying not to chirp or do anything that would sound remotely strange as he lets you talk about whatever planet has caught your attention or whatever paper you're working on this week. And you chuckling, even laughing sometimes as he does or tries to either give you advice or ignore you. It's all part of the thing that makes him feel a little better, a little stronger by the time he leaves. It's all part of something that makes him feel safe even if he barely says anything.
Because by the time he gets to you, there's nothing left for him to give.
The silence as his eyes burn almost deafens him. He feels you move and almost refuses to let you get away only to realize he's too weak, too slow thanks to the cold to hold onto anything. The cold, the sluggishness he'd fought so hard to find becomes his enemy as you disappear and reappear to help him up and out the doors, your blanket covering him up like a cloak to cover his face. And it's not any better when he steps outside and winter stakes its claim on him and the only thing he can concentrate on is your voice.
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The amount of research you have to ingest in the following hours is insane. You figured something of the sort was going to happen, certainly with how closed off he was being, but you'd hoped to avoid any catastrophe involving your new friend.
Alas, from the way he behaves, you should have called this. From his self-destructive behavior, you should have known that he would drive himself to hypothermia, leaving you to figure out how to sort this mess. And that unfortunately means no more secrets.
… You think it's hypothermia. When you see the green skin and the three-fingered hands, you're no longer sure. Certainly when he's not shivering and the only thing that helps are the red crescents near his eyes and under his blue mask.
Blue mask… Where the hell is he from? And does it matter when this is probably going to ruin your relationship? He thrives on secrets and you… Well, you just ruined a whole lot of that trying to save his life after he broke, didn't you?
Either way, he's safe. He'll be alright in a few hours. He just needs to get to a decent body temperature, which he is safely getting to while bundled up in your bed. He seems to have an internal body temperature, after all, just… one lower than yours.
Part of you worries as you try not to hover. The other knows better and simply keeps you busy with making dinner, and you can't be happier with the meal you chose as you let the pea soup simmer. You work on making something warm to drink along with it, too, hoping that he'll be okay with some Chai.
Then again, after an hour, you wonder if he'll be alright in general as you dare enter the room with the food and drink on a tray.
You can hear him breathing. That's much, much better than earlier. The fact that he doesn't really acknowledge you doesn't surprise you, either. If anything, the fact that he's looking at you as you set the tray down is the biggest anomaly. He doesn't follow you. He has too little energy to even begin caring, which you can't blame him for. So this — this is new. And concerning when he doesn't sit up upon seeing the food.
Guilt? A need to hide? The mask and the fact that you've never seen anything of him until now tell you it's the latter. He might not have had any energy, but he did keep you from something, likely only draining him further. It's why you hadn't fought him when he'd asked for your presence on the floor. He needs it, craves a presence he doesn't have to explain everything to. And you have been for the past three months. Something you find absolutely heartbreaking.
"I made some soup and chai. Hope you like it."
And more heartbreaking still is the way he grabs your wrist as you attempt to leave.
You turn to him. Let him pull at your wrist and have you sit on the edge of the bed. He does not let go, though, instead nearing you and settling against your back, curling up there with his shell to the door.
Even if he didn't refuse your offer of getting on your lap before you sit on your bed so that he can, you know it's for protection. It's not the first time he does it, either, even if it's completely unconscious. He cares. More than he lets you or anyone else know. And you're almost willing to bet that's what's breaking him.
He loves. He's just… so tied up in whatever else he has to do that it's not showing properly.
You carefully, sweetly touch his head, something he welcomes with a stretch of the neck and a quiet whimper. You smile as he relaxes, using your lap as a resting spot, and tears no longer in his eyes. He doesn't sleep, not quite, but he chirps, trills, and nudges your hand if you so much as stop petting him. Like a cat, he refuses to let you go until he's had his fill and you're honestly very much fine with it, certainly when, after enough coaxing, you manage to get him to sit and eat.
In fact, the only thing that bothers you is his phone the second it starts ringing, prompting you to fiddle with his hoodie and collect the phone to see who it is.
Another turtle. This one red and massive. Raph is the name on screen. Doesn't stop you from wanting to throw the phone across the room or shutting it down before you resume feeding and petting the one you know to be a slider.
They're supposed to be tolerant to cold. Resistant to brumation. You wonder how badly he's been worn down for this to happen. You also hate the fact that it's making you feel almost violently protective to the point where you want to lash out at the other turtle for treating your friend like this.
… Maybe you should have taken that call. Just to know his name. Then again, you don't want to ruin the trust between the both of you, no matter how little there is. He is at his weakest and he doesn't need to be tested further.
"You think you're up for a warm bath now that you've eaten?"
Besides, from the nod you feel against your shoulder, you have other ways to communicate with him.
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He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, as you scrub him clean. He only blinks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time once you’re done. He only lets you help him out of the bath and halfway back to your room when his hand lets go of yours and he — he looks away as if caught doing something, being somewhere he shouldn’t be.
“Where — where’s my stuff?”
And you realize why very quickly.
“Your clothes are in the bathroom and your phone is in my bedroom.”
“… Did I… get a call?”
“You did. From someone called Raph. I didn’t pick up.”
He’s awake. He’s coherent. His brain has finally caught up.
“… I have to go.”
And his thoughts and words hurt more than you’re comfortable with.
“Go get your clothes, then. I’ll go grab your phone.”
He looks at you with doubt, but turns around and heads back. You enter your bedroom and collect the blue jacketed phone before walking back to the bathroom where the slider is slipping on his hoodie, having already worked through his pants. You set said phone on the sink where he can see it as he works on his shoes next, unsurprised to hear him soon babbling to someone about trackers and getting someone off his ass for something. What surprises you is the tone. It’s animated, filled with a dramatic drawl and flair you had yet to hear from the slider. It’s nothing like you’ve heard, and it makes you realize just why he’s so drained, certainly when you hear “big bro” from his lips.
You cover your mouth. Your eyes burn. He ends the call and leaves your bathroom before anything else can happen, though and, just from the smile that meets you, you know you can’t cry.
“I’m afraid I gotta go. Someone’s breathing down my neck and might break the building if I don’t get going.”
There’s no point in it, after all.
“I’m… sorry I kept you.”
“You’re fine, sweetheart. Things just happen you know?”
“I guess. Do you –?”
“I know my way out. No worries.”
You’ve already lost him.
He gets to your living room where he takes to your window instead of your door. You feel your face hurt as you watch him expertly jump onto the sill.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Will I see you again?”
And it near contorts in pain as you watch his face, his persona break for a second, an instant in which you get your answer.
No. You won’t. You will never ever see the slider again. He’s no longer safe with you, and it has nothing to do with you.
“We’ll see.”
You watch him jump away. You feel your heart break. And you wonder if you could have done anything differently… while knowing there was never another option.