Random Turtle HC: Raph & Anxiety

Pretty Random Turtle Thunk

Bayverse Leo and Sheets

See the thing that annoys me the most about Bayverse Leo’s energy is he’s the type of guy that could not only put on a fitted sheet with absolutely no problem at all but also FOLD them perfectly as well. I don’t know if he watched video on how to do it or just through insane unholy amounts of repetition he somehow honed his skill (because Mr. Perfect needs to be “perfect” in ALL things. And that includes bedding and whatever. But it would be like the cleanest folds with the crispest lines and everything, like it came straight from the package. And he’d do it completely from muscle memory because he’s ridiculously trained like that.

And you KNOW he would be so smug about it too. He’d catch you looking with your mouth slightly agape, eyebrows raised and I know, I know, it would stroke his ego something fierce seeing you impressed like that. But he’d just try to hide his smirk with a small shake of his head and offer to teach you if he’d like. How much y'all wanna bet he can do origami with like towels and sheets and stuff he’s just THAT extra?

Also some chocolate milk thoughts (18+) about what I would say to Leo in this regards if I wasn’t a coward.

”You know Leo, you actually remind me of a fitted sheet sometimes. I have no idea how to work with you, and you give me so much grief. But all I know is that I want you on this mattress now.”

Howdy Friends! I updated my "A Little Ninja's Mission" story a wee bit and put it on Archive of our own. Here's the link if you wanna check it out.

...Help--

Anonymous opinions?

Well, you are one of the sweetest people I've ever met an absolute peach :]

Noooooooooo no her not. I’m not sweet! I’m spicy! *said in my niece’s 3 year old voice*

Thank you tho, Nonnie, this made my morning ☺️

I’m genuinely surprised someone actually looked at my tumblr and did this, so thank you for taking the time out of your day to be kind. That’s very brave. In fact, if anybody is sweet, it’d be you 😉👉🏼👉🏼🧡

a HA! THE REAL REASON CHESS TELLS US TO STAY AWAY FROM COVERT LEON IS REVEALED

Man’ s a simp! We have two sources now to back it up! Chessman just wants Leo aaaaalllllll for himself, dontcha buddy?! (for legal purposes this is an affectionate joke, please don't hurt me) It was reverse psychology all along! I knew it!

Apologies everyone... I fear I have accidentally killed him. Who knew a cryptid could be so powerful...

YOU ARE NOT SORRY IN THE SLIGHTEST--

DON'T EVEN--

Philia

Love isn’t always some big grandiose moment or occasion

Sometimes…

Sometimes love is just your best friend buying you cake with whip cream because she knows you don’t care for frosting and then “sneaking” the package into your room because she’s a devious little gremlin like that.

Sometimes love is the feeling of cake tasting sweeter because it was given by someone who cares 🧡🍰

I see you, you little buttnugget @anobodyinabog

Revelation

When you're doing research for a University Assignment and accidentally discover some sCiEnTiC eViDeNcE about how you've felt for YEARS, but never had words for it, so you just assumed you were oversensitive with a flair for the dramatics.

Here's the link if anybody else was curious

https://www.apa.org/monitor/2021/11/feature-cultivating-empathy

*comes in and excitedly kicks down door* So please don’t mind that I literally woke up from the dead of sleep with this friggin idea, but HOLY HONK YALL!

Tell me that these two, tired, wise cracking, dramatic, blue fathers would not just be the best of friends?!?!*

*grabs you by the collar* LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME I’M WRONG

Random Turtle Thoughts...

It caught him totally off guard. It really did. He never thought that once in his life he would be taken by surprise this way. Especially with all the peculiarities his life held - everything from aliens trying to conquer the world, to new mutants emerging seemingly out of the bricks that made up the city, to his very own existence. Nothing should astonish him at this point.

Yet here he was.

He'd read about this moment in numerous books. Seen dozens of actors and actresses feigning it in countless movies. Come to think of it as something that was possible - for why else would it constantly be portrayed virtually the same way over and over again across different medias spanning the ages - if there weren't some kernel of truth to it?

So, sure... He could accept that it was real. But surely - neither he nor any of his brothers would witness it in their lifetimes. Much less experience it firsthand.

That moment. So rare and enchanting.

But here it was. Happening before his eyes. In the last place anyone would think it ever could. Down beneath the real world, in a makeshift home, atop a beaten, reclaimed chair and discarded cushions rescued from dumpsters during a routine and unextraordinary movie night. Down so far from the light of the sun. The breath of fresh air.

It was quiet. Soft and beautiful. Looking nothing like he'd imagined it would. It wasn't loud or filled with fireworks or jubilant music. It didn't charge the air with static. Or shake the room with profoundness.

It didn't need any attention. It was happening. This moment. Whether anyone was watching or not.

It only needed the two of them. And there they were, fully committed to it.

Raph, in the worn chair in the corner of the common room. She, nestled between his legs with several pillows piled beneath to prop her up off the floor. One of her arms draped affectionately over his knee with his wrapped protectively around her.

He was curled down over her as she stretched up to him. Seeking to be as close together as they could. Faces barely a breath apart. Gone, every ounce of insecurity or dull irritation that normally adorned Raph's expression. His eyes wide and bright as they held her's captive. Her own expression nearly glowing, eyes twinkling, as the two seemed to whisper simultaneously to one another. Ears drinking in every syllable hushed. Breathy giggles slipping free every few seconds.

One of her hands laced firmly within his as the digits of the other two hands stroked and kneaded touches past each other. Their smiles beaming from the belonging, the comfort, the happiness radiating from within. Completely in-tune with each other. Oblivious to everything else. Immersed within a tiny world of their own making.

Leo blinked and quickly looked away, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment. But a quick glance at his two youngest siblings confirmed, they were totally unaware of the enormity of the moment happening mere feet from them.

Mikey, slumped sideways in his chair, idly munching on snacks between reciting movie lines he now knew by heart. Donnie nodding off, his eyes heavy beneath the lens of his glasses on the other end of the couch.

They were oblivious.

So Leo took a deep gulp. And dared to steal another look. Confirm he was truly seeing what he thought was happening.

A sense of awe overtook him. As he realized it really was real. Nearly brought tears by what he saw. Not just for the happiness for Raph. For her. But also for the fact that if this moment could happen for one of them, then there was the chance it could for all of them.

The tiny flame he nearly allowed to die out, gently stroked back to life each second he watched on.

But it was an intimate affair. So, he only allowed his gaze to hang on it a few seconds more. This moment.

When two souls mated. And became one.

@luckycharms1701 @yorshie @justalotoffanfiction @celticvix @writinandcrying @donniesgirlie @thelaundrybitch @gornackeaterofworlds

Memory

RaphaelxReader

Warnings: Amnesia, Angst

(this is so tropey and self indulgent that I was almost too embarrassed to post it, thank you @the-cauldron-witch for giving me the stones. Apologies in advance. 😅)

"What are you to me?"

You freeze, your pen stopping mid-letter. For the last week you'd been trying to figure out how to answer if he asked, and you were still at a loss. 

Don't think for him, Donnie'd said, the memories are there, he just has to form the connections. They'll be stronger, and this will go faster, if you let him do that on his own.

He knows he shouldn't be asking, but every time he looks at you he feels like he's missing something important, and the way you look at him sometimes... he can't bear it. 

"We should, um," you clear your throat, looking very intentionally at the paper in front of you, "we should really focus on this analysis. The more data we can feed Donnie, the sooner he can figure out of there'll be any serious lasting consequences to this." 

"I'm missing three years of my life, I'd say that's pretty serious," he quips, humorlessly. You still haven't looked up at him. Jaw tight, measured breaths the only thing keeping your hand steady. You'd been keeping it together for the last two weeks, you couldn't break now. Least of all in front of him. 

Six hours trapped in a reinforced refrigeration truck. He only survived because of what little body heat you could offer, but you'd both nearly died. You woke a few days later, in the infirmary, your hands still raw and recovering from frostbite, but Raphael... didn't. 

For fifteen days, no one knew if he was going to survive. You didn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You wouldn't leave his side. The number of arguments you and Donatello had about you resting were in the double digits. He might lose his brother, he wasn't going to lose his best friend, too. The only way you agreed was by dragging the couch beside the cot Raphael was laying in.  

When he awoke he couldn't remember much of anything. Slowly, over the course of the next week, memories drifted back like smoke. He remembered his father, his brothers, April, his best friend, Casey, that dumb ass, Vern, but not you. The last three years are still a blur and none of it makes any sense.

He looks at you like a familiar face at the grocery store. Like something is digging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can't quite place you. He looks at you with curiosity, even attraction at times, but the love that you built and fought for, through death and distance, is gone.

You inhale, before the pen begins to move again in your hand. He reaches up and stops it. 

"Y/N..." The familiar feeling of his hand around yours, his thumb gently brushing the hollow of your wrist, makes your chest ache and your eyes fall closed. 

Tears glitter at the seam of your eyelashes, as the words slip free unbidden, barely louder than a whisper, "I miss you..." 

His hand stills, there it is again. That feeling, understanding just outside his reach, he's pulled to you and he doesn't know why. Everything you do affects him, and right now, you're crying, and he would tear the world apart to see you smile again. 

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling your hand from his, leaving the pen on the table, "I need to go."

"Y/N, wait," he begs, quickly, standing, "please, I-" 

All of your faculties are being used to keep you in one piece. You don't even have the ability to attempt any kind of excuse. "I'll be back tomorrow night. We can finish the analysis then." You shove your laptop into your bag and zip it closed, slinging it over your shoulder, before you rush out of the lair to echoes of him begging you to stay. 

You barely make it home before you collapse by the couch and weep. Three years. Three years just gone. 

You pull the deep red blanket he made you last winter off the couch and wrap yourself in it, in him, in his scent, because it's the only thing of his you can wrap around you. 

You let yourself cry. Mourn. Since he woke up, you've been shoving everything down and away. 

This is not about you, you'd scolded yourself. 

You'd reminded yourself it must be worse for him. He's probably terrified, losing so much time must be scary as hell. And you'd kept it together. Every time he looked at you with that question in his eyes. Every time he said "hey" and kept walking. Every time he touched you... and let go. 

But you've reached your breaking point

The feeling of his hand on your wrist was so familiar, and you were pulled back into lazy evenings in bed, the sunset painting your skin, as the two of you found any excuse not to get up for work. Comfortable, safe, warm. Things you haven't felt since before all of this started. And it was all too much. 

Violent sobs rip through your body, as your heart rages in your chest. It's not fair. You'd already been through so much. Fought so hard. And, for him... none of it happened. The bone-deep love and connection that had become so vital to both of you, was ripped away, and you were the only one left bleeding. 

You don't notice the soft landing beside the window. 

He just stares at you for a moment. He's overcome with the need to catch you up, hold you to him, and do whatever he has to do to fix it.

"It's important, isn't it," he says finally, quietly, "what I can't remember."

You gasp and stand up, clumsily, hands flying to your eyes and wiping pointlessly at tears as you turn away, "You shouldn't be here." 

"See, I'm not so sure about that." He steps forward slowly, "because..." His eyes fall on a carved wooden rose, and he pauses. A craftsman can always recognize their work. His eyes begin to scan the dimly lit room around him. 

No photographs, but all around him are little things made by his own hands, his favorite books and movies, this place doesn't just feel familiar. It feels like home. His eyes return to yours as he continues his approach.

You fall back against the wall as he advances, "Does Donnie know your here? You really shouldn't be out running around the city by yourself. You're still recovering, it's not... safe." Your breath hitches as your back hits drywall. 

He takes your hand gently, holding it just like before, caressing the inside of your wrist. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes sting. As he invades your personal space, your body reacts on instinct, head tilting up, hand against his chest, and his responds, gripping your waist and pulling you into him, breathing in deeply a scent just on the edge of his memory. 

"That's what I'm missing, isn't it," he asks softly, tears darkening the fabric around his eyes, "that's what this feeling is... love." 

Your heart twists, and you can't breathe. You're trembling with loss and grief and you don't want him to stop. 

"I love you," he says, almost in wonder, holding your gaze. 

It's like a bullet to the chest and all the air rushes out of you. Tears stream freely from your eyes and you draw a shuddering breath. "You don't even know me," you say, and you swear you don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does.

He flinches, stepping back, but not releasing your hand. The shame and guilt are instantaneous. None of this is his fault. You look down and away, unable to meet his amber eyes, "I- I'm sorry," you manage, "I-"

"You're wrong."

You look up through tears as he steps forward again, pulling you closer. A hand comes up and cups your cheek as the one around your waist tightens, and he looks down at you with an intensity you haven't seen in weeks. 

"I may not know your face, or remember... anything about you, but..." His eyes close and his hand slides into your hair as he dips his head and touches his forehead to yours, "I remember... this," he continues breathlessly, gripping your hair gently, "I remember this feeling... Your skin... against mine. Your scent..." 

It's there. He can feel it. Just beyond his reach. He's been grasping blindly. Needing you and not knowing why, needing to feel you under his hands, against him. 

The hand at your waist slides to your lower back, pulling you closer. "Help me," he pleads, eyes shut tight, all focus trained on you, voice thick with hope and desperation, "please... help me remember." 

Donatello's warnings burn to ash within your memory as his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss. 

It's clumsy at first. Demanding. Desperate. Like a dance he doesn't quite remember the steps to. He holds too tightly, moves too stiffly, but you open to him anyway, and a warm wave of sunlight flows into him. 

He was so cold. He's still so cold. He can't remember the truck but he can remember the cold. Seeping into him slowly. As time dragged on and his body heat waned he'd grown so tired so quickly. He could still feel it. Frost on his edges. He's tried everything. Heated blankets, hot showers, gallons of tea. He's been trying since he woke up, he just can't seem to get warm. 

But where his skin touches yours, it's like holding the sun. 

Your heat floods into him like warm, golden light. Like the dawn. Pouring into the deepest, coldest parts, and filling him completely with that feeling. Love. And there you are, beneath the melt. As vital and familiar as his own heartbeat.

His kiss softens, his hold becomes more sure, familiar. It takes you a moment, but you realize, between kisses, he's whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He holds you the way he always has, and he kisses you the way he always has, and soon your crying too hard to kiss him back.

He holds you tight against him, pressing you against his chest, kissing your hair, apologizing over and over as if any of this is his fault. You cling to him desperately, afraid that if you let go it won't be real, that he'll forget you again. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, afraid that you'll be wrong, and you'll look up into his, and you'll find only questions.

His hold tightens and his eyes burn. He's angry. This is unacceptable. Unfair. He got played, and he was supposed to die in that truck. What the Oroku fuckers didn't count on, what they never count on, is you. You'd pressed yourself against him, sharing what little warmth you could. By the time the others found you, both of you were unconscious and hypothermic, but still alive, Raphael's large body wrapped tightly around yours. You'd kept his heart beating. Just like always.

He pulls back and attempts to raise your chin to meet his eyes. You resist. He can smell your fear, feel the pounding of your heart under his fingertips.

He rests his head against the side of yours and speaks your name softly, in the same voice that has pulled you peacefully from sleep a thousand times. Another sob escapes you and you curl into him tightly, before a few moments pass and you unfurl, your eyes raising to meet his. 

The weight of his gaze settles on you and you never thought you could be grateful to see such depths of pain within him, but within the pain was... everything else. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, every moment of the last three years was a storm inside his eyes.

You can see the naked rage, swirling in the tempest, and it mirrors your own. Those responsible would be dealt with, later. Now, you reach back behind him, and he dips his head to make it easier for you to remove his mask. You toss it aside, and he presses his forehead to yours. You rest your hands on either side of his face, tracing the familiar scars, and you can feel his shuddering exhale. 

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Raphael-"

"I didn't mean to-" His breath catches on a sob, and you pull him tighter against you. Burying his head in your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist and breathes deep. If scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, he would bury himself in you. He would never forget again. 

....

I know this isn't how amnesia works, okay??? I KNOW the plot here is swiss cheese!!! but it got stuck in my head and now you have to deal with it too, so there.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15