Caffeinated Thoughts - Blog Posts

Warnings: I will be talking a lot about how terrible Donnie's crush on April is, and since I'm not an Apriltello shipper this will make it sound like I am shitting on Apriltello 2012 as a concept, but I'm actually just shitting on "Apriltello" as it is presented in the show.

This rant is also not really well structured, read at your own risk.

Okay so ever since I got Paramount + — because I got tired of getting viruses from indian websites when trying to pirate this goddamn show— I have watched TMNT 2012 a total of 5+ times, which means not only do I have a lot to say in general about this show but there is something that bothers me deeply, ever since the first season aired.

April O'Neil.

I know a lot of people shit on April in the show for how she treated Donatello, me included— and I stand by it, Cannon April is horrible — but honestly? Had she been a tad bit better written, there was a lot of potential for her character! There were so many good ideas, and all of them were WASTED.

So this is my character analysis of April O'Neil or, as I'm like to call it;

April O'Neil — The self insert of the teenage girl the writers had a crush on back in high school.

When I was 10 years old, I absolutely despised April because, naturally, I hated the love interest of most protagonists from the shows I watched because usually I felt they were badly written and other times were because I had a fictional crush on the protagonist, so in my child logic that meant I had to hate their love interests.

April was a prime example of that.

But as I've gotten older, I've realized a couple of things about April;

Firstly. April is written by grown ass men whose interactions with teenage girls likely doesn't extend further than that one time they got rejected by their crush in high school or telling their teenage daughter to go to her room, basing it off the way ALL female characters in the show are written.

Secondly, she is written by grown men who likely grew up having a fictional crush in previous versions of April.

This is... a recipe for disaster.

Look— April O'Neil and the way she acts in the show is written exactly the way adult men who are trying to write a teenage girl write teenage girls.

These dudes? They don't actually like or understand teenage girls. They had crushes on teenage girls, they thought they were hot, they might still think of the "what could have been" aspect if they didn't get rejected on prom night, but they do not respect teenage girls, they don't respect their thoughts, their feelings or their interests, and this not only means that April is a poorly written teenage girl as a result, but it also bleeds into the writing of other characters, mainly Donatello and Casey.

If you don't respect your teenage female character as a person, you're not going to write the teenage male characters to respect them either.

The writers clearly love April O'Neil, the concept. They try to sell you the idea that April is so cool, so cute/hot, this kind and empathetic soul, even though she barely does anything extremely cool or kind in the show??

The show is always trying to tell you what to think of April O'Neil, but the writing never earns that. In fact, it often shows the opposite.

The first time she sees the turtles? She screams AND is incredibly scared of them, which, understandable, but doesn't scream open-minded, does it?

When April finds out that Karai might have a semblance of a heart inside of her when they're fighting, instead of trying to create a connection with her and see if she can possible turn Karai to their side, she throws Karai down the subway stairs.

When she meets Dr. Falco with Donnie, and they're unknowingly discussing Dr. Rockwell with him, April keeps referring to the possible mutant experiments as MONSTROSITIES.

DONNIE IS RIGHT THERE!! She literally only stops when DONNIE had to express not once, but TWICE how uncomfortable he is. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the giant mutant turtle is probably going to be uncomfortable hearing people call other mutants like him monsters.

Also— April is never really the one that tries to be kind of empathetic to mutants. She only stops the turtles from beating the shit out of Pidgeon Pete when he mentions her father. So much for someone with psychic powers. When Mutagen Man comes after her, she calls him DONNIE'S MONSTER.

Yes, I get she was pissed off with Donnie and the turtles still, but referring to a random kid who by no means deserved his fate as a monster is so fucked up, April?? How would she feel if Casey called her dad when he got mutated the first time a monster? She totally would've been angry at anybody who said that.

Also this raises so many questions. Did no one explain to April who Timothy was?? Did Donnie not tell her?!? Timothy just spent months stuck to Donnie's lab, watching everybody with his creepy ass eyes and organs and Donnie was making a voicebox for the poor guy and the information just never, reached April? That Timothy was this sorta weird sorta awkward teenage kid who got involved with things he shouldn't and got himself mutated?

I don't buy it. I get it not being mentioned in the show, but I feel like SOMEBODY would have mentioned it in passing to April at some point.

Moving on, a lot of people say the way April acts towards Donnie is annoying or shallow, which while totally 100% at certain points, I think a lot of people in the fandom, for one reason or another are incapable of fully empathizing with Cannon April, and while I genuinely think Cannon April is a BAD PERSON for several reasons, I feel that she doesn't deserve as much hate as she gets— especially not for the way she acts towards Donnie.

I mean, put yourself in her shoes for a nanosecond.

You've lost your mother in a mysterious accident or something 10 years ago. Your father likely doesn't talk a lot about it, and while that bothers you, you're just going through your normal teenage ages, worried about your grades. Worried about boys. Worried about high school popularity.

Then everything changed when the Kraang attacked. Suddenly, you find yourself being saved by four giant humanoid mutant turtles who do martial arts, and your dad is kidnapped by aliens in android bodies that wear suits, the mutants save you, but you have no idea if you'll ever see your father again. You might have just lost BOTH of your parents.

But before you are able to even start processing that you realize that one of those turtles has a massive, big, fat, and OBVIOUS crush on you. But does he confess? No, he just acts, really, really awkward and weird about it.

He lowkey treats you like his girlfriend even though he never asked you out, he calls you pet names like "my sweet chinchilla" and "my princess". He stalks you through buildings. He opens his arms expecting hugs when you're around. He pets your hair. He offers to let you feel his fucking bicep lmao.

And this isn't even half of the weird shit he does!!

Look, any teenage girl or actual woman would think this is fucking weird in real life, okay? Like, this guy is going to kill me and keep my teeth in a box levels of creepy. If we're treating April with actual respect, this would be lowkey terrifying from her POV, he saved her life and he likes her, what if she says she doesn't like him?

Donnie is taller, stronger, and much more skilled than April in every way possible— up until she gets superpowers— even though yes, he is a hero, and yes, his brothers would likely not let him do anything bad to her, how does she know?

If you're a regular teenage girl, how do you know this guy isn't going to lose his shit when you reject him? While I don’t think Cannon April is scared of Donnie hurting her for rejecting him, I still think she feels rejecting him would put her into such an awkward position that it could possible ruin the friendship they have.

Let's be honest, April is a cute/conventionally attractive girl, she definitely would have gone through the Nice Guy™ cannon event by the show's events at least once.

When you're able to look past the obvious bad writing or April hate what actually lies beneath is a girl who is in a horribly awkward situation. April's life has been turned upside down, her father keeps getting kidnapped or horribly mutated, she finds out she's not even FULLY human, aliens and ninjas are constantly trying to kidnap or murder her and on top of all of this?

One of the only people who can help her, help her father, save the entite world has a massive crush on her.

In her mind, it's much less risky to just pretend like she doesn't know he has a crush on her as long as he never confesses and she has to directly turn him down.

But then things get massively awkward when she meets this new kid and they have so much chemistry, she can actually share both aspects of her life with Casey. April gets to talk about how crazy her life is but also complain about normal stuff, and hey with this new kid coming around, this means that Donnie will naturally realize how they like each other and back off right???

Hahah...

No.

He gets JEALOUS. And is actively hostile to her friend!! And it is so blatantly obvious that it's because he is jealous of Casey, they're both generally so bad at hiding how they're both into April.

So now her predicament is that Donnie is actively hostile to Casey because he views him as a threat, and Casey who doesn't let that shit slide is responding in kin. They both act like she's their girlfriend or eventually going to end up with them, even though neither of them have asked her OUT.

This is majotarily an issue because of the bad writing. But if we ignore that for a second, what this looks like is a girl that's put into a situation where no matter what she does, she loses.

Now, I see some people suggesting that Donnie's crush on April is a two-sided problem, claiming that April is either very manipulative or that she lowkey enjoys that Donnie likes her which is odd to me— Like did we watch the same show?

While you can definitely see it like that since April's character is so badly written and so bland that you can fit almost any interpretation into her actions and her being outright manipulative would have been an interestingangle to explore, I completely disagree with this reading for the cannon because outside of a few very specific episodes, April never gives Donnie any indication that she likes him, outside of those situations she never "leads him on."

Like c'mon, the only episode I can think of where she does lead him on is foot too big, which I have a lot of problems with from a writing standpoint, but the episode itself feels so out of character and conflicting.

Ignoring how that episode affects Donatello for a second, it does something really gross to April's characterization. It has her very clearly reject Donnie's advances at the start of the episode, then she's not really present for a majority of the episode until Donnie essentially does some growing and tells her how he understands how she feels and he accepts her rejection, so she kisses him????

?????

Look, this feels like that point in any amateur writer's story where they need to continue the mutual pining, but the story came to a point where it has to directly address one of the character's interest in the other, so the writer pulls something convoluted out of their ass in order to keep the mutual pining going, without realizing that the way they're writing the character makes it feel like one of them HATES THE OTHER and by making them show interest out of a sudden, it destroys the previous characterization! It's not interesting, it's not even a character flaw, it's BAD WRITING!

This episode takes the cannon, if maybe unintentional characterization of April O'Neil as a girl who knows her friend is into her, but she feels uncomfortable directly addressing, and makes it seem like she's a manipulative bitch leading him on, which not only looks very stupid but is also very ~misogynistic~

It's also such a weird episode because nothing happens after this?

It's not Donnie's fault that he's a massive creep! It's not his Father's fault for not telling him he needs to cut it out because it's weirding April out— I also have a lot of problems with the way Splinter "addresses" this issue, which is to say, outside of a single episode, he doesn't—! It's not his brother's fault for never outright saying he needs to stop because of how much of a massive creep he is! It's not Casey's fault for not addressing it either and maybe trying to have a heart to heart with Donnie about both of their feelings toward April—

No, it's the girl's fault for leading him on. Even though everything she does screams "I am not interested, dude."

Also, this isn't me saying the other characters — with the exception of Splinter — should be heavily critized for their lack of emotional intelligence when approaching this situation. But if you are going to let the other teenager's poor actions slide because they're kids, you can't expect the only teenage girl to have the emotional intelligence to deal with that situation either without making it seem sexist, y'know.

The same issue is present with the way the writers start treating Casey btw, in season 2 when April was paired with Casey, she actually felt like a fully fledged character. It actually felt like she was going to start getting some actual character development and maybe develop a relationship with Casey, which made the most sense since at this point it felt like April had no intention of addressing the "I'm half human half kraang" situation. And she had chemistry with him!

And then out of nowhere she starts acting distant and cold towards Casey? Even CASEY points it out in the show lmao.

Honestly this feels like the writers trying to very poorly balance the love triangle, they needed to give Donnie a reason to believe he still had a chance with April, while knocking Casey down enough that he thought he shouldn't directly ask her out even after all of the pseudo dates they had in season 2.

And since I'm talking about April, I feel that maybe it's because my type of woman is women like Karai, which actually felt like an interesting person, even though she was also handled poorly, but April, outside of a few very specific episodes, just feels bland.

I mean, come on, can you tell me one concrete thing about her that comes from cannon that goes deeper than surface level?

What does she like? What doesn't she like? What her thoughts on the situations she finds herself in?

She never talks about her mother beyond missing her, even in the episode where the copy of her mom is present. It just happens, and then she never talks about it again??? At least not to any noticeable extent. She never processes what it means to be a half human half kraang mutant. It takes the show like 3 seasons to even start addressing her psychic powers?!

You're telling me you gave this version of April one of the coolest powers in the history of superpowers, and YOU WAIT TILL YOUR SHOW IS ALMOST OVER TO EVEN START ADDRESSING IT?

You cannot convince me Donnie and Casey wouldn't immediately want to talk about April's powers the moment they learned about it.

Donnie would immediately start running tests, not wait until the farmhouse to do it.

Casey would think, "It's totally dope. Yo" and would want to help April train her powers.

Cue a training montage with April learning how to levitate soda cans and how to use her psychic powers with both Donnie and Casey cheering her on.

Anyways, my conclusion to this post is just how all of the characters in this show were robbed, but especially April, she's not "April O'Neil" she is "Donnie's crush", she is "Casey's love interest", she’s "the center of the conspiracy".

She's never allowed to be a character. She's never allowed to feel like a real teenage girl. She's never even allowed to reject Donnie!! She is written as if she doesn't like him but every single time where he is getting over her suddenly something happens that makes him crawl back into that stupid obssession!! Even though she is clearly not interested. April O'neil is not a character, she is a weird plot device which the writers can use to move the plot forward and push their weird fucking ships onto the audience without actually developing anything to any extent.

I rest my case.

Random pet peeve of mine, but I would like to see more shorter fanfics that mention other characters in the canon

I guess it might go without saying that some of my fanfics focus on not only fleshing out the turtles but also the other characters in the story that I feel were heavily sidelined and had so much potential, I know a lot of people write to fix characters like Casey, April, Karai and whatnot, but what about the side characters?? What about the villains??

For example, I never see Timothy mentioned outside of very specific situations, and that guy deserved so much better :(

I actually have a half unfinished draft of a Leo x Male!Reader fanfic, where the reader is Timothy's brother and has been trying to find him after his sudden disappearance, sibling is tricked into believing the turtles were the ones who mutated him and joins the foot clan, there's a lot of angst and developing Timothy's character beyond this cringe teenage kid who got involved into something he shouldn't and also exploring how a kid even gets to that point

Would anybody read something like that, btw? I love the idea, but I'm currently obsessed with Statistical Improbability and The Secrets we Inherit + a third fanfic I haven't posted yet but have like 20k words written, so if I am to write it anytime soon, it would only be if there's some interest in it

Also please recommend me fanfics that focus around the more minor characters of 2012 if you know any, thx!!

Drawing a character that you are not attracted to in any shape or form is hard work

I had a super cool dream today. Tmnt related.

I was in some kind of mission in a research lab, I knew I was looking for some kind of info on mutagen for some reason, and as I kept looking for it I had to fight some of the researchers inside the facility and there were also other people trying to steal the same info I needed, so I was slashing and cutting through these spies while trying to obtain some sort of macguffin, but before I could find what I needed an alarm echoed through the facility and I had to run away.

I ran off, and for some reason, I ended up in a shopping mall with a bunch of other people, most people had no idea of what was going on. And then some army guys came around, saying they were gonna protect us, that we had to evacuate and stuff, it was a mess since the majority of the people wanted answers, but the military refused to say anything concrete about what was happening outside of the shopping mall.

But I knew what was happening — I was in the Tmnt mutant apocalypse and the mutagen bomb had just hit New York, the majority of the people had been turned into mutants and it was spreading through the coutry and soon most people would have become mutated.

The military guys got us to the rooftop of this mall. Apparently, we were waiting for Evac helicopters when they suddenly lost contact with their base close to the evening. The army guys were fighting and arguing because without Evac helicopters, we were doomed, since the only alternate route had been compromised by mutants flooding the streets.

As everybody was being kept in the dark while the military tried to figure out what to do, these mutated birds flew across the sky and laid these glowing mutagen eggs onto the roof. For some reason, they didn't crack upon landing, but they did start to pulsate rapidly, so I told people it was Mutagen and to get away from it.

Together we managed to throw the eggs from the roof and they fell to the ground, but there were some idiot survivors in the ground that started to approach the egg, thinking they could kill it even as everybody on the roof warned them to stay away.

Naturally, the rapidly pulsating egg exploded in the survivor's face, and they turned into these messed up snake mutants who managed to crawl up the walls of the mall. For some reason I had mad fighting skills and a whole futuristic suit so I was fighting the snakes alongside the army guys, until I thought the amount of sleep I was getting was suspicious and woke up exactly when my alarm was set to ring.

Oh my god, how do fanfic writers make GOOD titltes for their fanfics? I can write 4k words in a single mania driven single sitting, but trying to think of a good title is like fighting God with a toothpick

One of my handcannons for the guys is that as they get older and get in contact with more humans, they actually start to wear clothes more often

We know that at least Mikey has some human clothes in his bedroom, but I always thought it was kind of weird how nobody points out they are naked all the time, lol

I feel like someone would make a comment ( probably Casey ) that sort of gets them to realize how weird it looks to humans when they are walking butt naked everywhere, and that's when they at least start wearing pants

The Secrets we Inherit ♡ Donatello x Stockman's Niece!Reader 《 Part 2 》

Summary: After your eccentric uncle, Baxter Stockman, vanishes without a trace, you're the only one who can investigate his sudden disappearance.

Your father doesn't believe you and you're alone in your search for your missing uncle. You decide to take matters into your own hands.

Context: This continues right after Season 1, Episode 11: Mousers Attack!

Content Warnings: Not proofread, mentions of blood, some minor injuries, reader is a certified nerd and a bit dorky, I don't remember if I mentioned but this is going to be a slow burn because I like torturing myself, be warned— terrible dad jokes are present in this chapter

Word Count: Idk some 8k words

----

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Your knee bounced up and down, matching the frantic rhythm of your pulse. Everything had blurred together— swinging katanas, laser flashes, your uncle being dragged away by that... monster, a swarm of metallic figures that seemed to swallow the entire building as you could do nothing but watch.

The thoughts in your head overlapped one another, and you wanted to say a million things, do a million things. You wanted to say 'I'm sorry' and 'I have no idea what just happened' but nothing but air came out.

Your body was shaking as if you were just pulled out from freezing water in the Arctic. Was it the blood loss? The concussion? Or just the shock? Maybe it was everything all at once, you couldn't tell. All you knew was that your dad was standing there, staring at you with those eyes— big, disappointed, and expectant eyes. You just about regretted calling him to pick you up.

You sucked in a breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the back of your throat and threatened to spill at the slighest of sounds. Your hands, slick with sweat, were locked so tightly together they hurt.

You didn't dare answer.

Never did you think silence could be deafening, but in this moment you finally understood what this phrase meant— New York had never felt so quiet, the city’s pulse muted in those seconds that seemed to stretch on, everlasting.

The only thing that broke this illusion of silence were the strangled sniffs and hitches of your breath. Quiet, stifled sobs that wanted to turn into an ugly, uncontrolled cry. Then came something different, a sigh, deep and defeated coming from your father.

You heard his footsteps retreat, the creak of his car door opening, and then it shut suddenly. His boots squeaked against the concrete before he kneeled in front of you, gently lifting your chin, forcing you to look at him.

He grunted when he saw your face—swollen, bloodied, the cut over your eyebrow has painted a good part of your face red.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, his voice flat. "You sneaked out and came out to this abandoned place. What the hell happened here?" When you still didn’t answer, he called your name sternly.

You let out a small laugh but forced your eyes shut and sucked in a breath, your lips trembling. "I needed to know what happened to Uncle Baxter."

God was this deeply, utterly humiliating.

Your dad scoffed, his fingers pinching your face but gently turning it around so he could inspect your injuries. He pressed a cold water bottle to your eye. "Come on, kid."

He leaned back, studying you. "I get it. You two were close. But Baxter—" Your father paused, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. "He’s kind of a loser, honestly."

"Uncle Baxter’s not a loser," you protested, but it came out weaker than you intended.

"He's a loser," your dad repeated, pulling your chin up to inspect your black eye more closely. His fingers pressed the cold bottle with more pressure into your face, drawing a low hiss from your clenched teeth.

He paused, looking at his watch. "And by the way, as of two weeks, three days and 7 hours, he’s also a wanted criminal." He rolled his eyes. You could tell your dad was deeply annoyed and angry at your uncle for his recent shortcomings, but you wished he at least gave him the benefit of the doubt.

However, your dad had a good argument, and the growing evidence was quite hard to dispute. He’d botched his chance at that big tech job. Then, he got fired from his last office gig for breaking the copy machine. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his face had been plastered on the morning news as he terrorized his poor ex-colleagues, not once, but twice.

"He's just... going through a tough time," you added, but even you didn't believe the words.

His brow furrowed in concern. "Did he do this to you?"

"No."

"Then what the hell happened?"

You let out a dry laugh, closing your eyes.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Try me."

You hesitated and drew in a sharp breath, licking your lips as you sought for courage.

"Well, I found out that Uncle Baxter had this secret hideout... like a base or something that he used for his experiments. He told me about it once, and I came here to— argh!" You let out a sharp wince as your dad checked your strained ankle.

"And?" He prompted, putting your foot down on the ground gently.

"And then I found out Uncle Baxter’s got beef with, like, four human-sized turtles who do karate. And then he got kidnapped by some giant dog-man." You stated very matter of factly, as if it was the most natural thing to tell someone, almost as if you were answering what kind of coffee you had this morning, black or an expresso? "And I fell down the stairs, that's how I cut my eyebrow and sprained my ankle."

Your dad’s expression didn’t even flinch.

He raised an eyebrow slowly. "Yeah, hallucinations are a telltale sign of a concussion." He stood with a slap on his thighs and picked you up. "We're going to the hospital."

"Dad!"

-------

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms folded tight across your chest and eyes staring at your faint reflection in the car window. You could see the jagged line of stitches above your left brow— fresh, red, and still itching. You kept your jaw clenched so tightly that you could see some veins jutting out of your neck.

"You want to uncross those arms or what?" Your dad said, eyes still on the road back from the hospital. "Any tighter, and they'll fuse like that forever."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "You don’t believe me, dad."

"Not even a little," he answered, not missing a beat.

He glanced over, and when he saw your expression, he sighed softly. "Look, kid. I know Baxter was into some shady stuff, and you’ve got that wild imagination— probably from your mom’s side—but human-sized turtles? Mutant dogs? You've got to know what you sound like."

Yep, there it is. That quiet judgment of his.

Your head snapped toward him. "Dad, this city’s weird. You know it is. Remember when the streets filled with rats? Like, biblical levels of rats. That’s not normal. Rats don’t coordinate en masse." You turned too fast and smacked your sprained ankle against the door, hissing through your teeth as the pain flared up your leg. "And what about that thing running loose in the sewers scaring the workers? Or those UFO videos—there are hundreds."

He let out a snort. "Have you been watching too much Grody to the Max again? That show’s gonna rot your brain with conspiracy theories. Ninjas, mutants, government cover-ups— it’s entertainment, not evidence."

"I know what I saw!"

Your voice cracked, high with frustration. You swallowed it down.

"Uncle Bax’s been missing for weeks. No calls. His apartment’s a mess—cobwebs, food rotting, mail piling up. And you think that’s fine? I mean, look—"

You search your pocket, finding your phone, and you show him the recording from earlier. He slows down at a red light and takes the opportunity to glance at the screen. You can see his eyes slowly furrowing and then squinting.

"And what am I looking at?"

You look at the screen. The recording is mostly a blur of colors and noise. You sigh in frustration. "Oh c'mon, it's the fight! Here, look!" You pause the video on a particular frame, where one of the turtles you saw from before stood, holding its katanas, ready to strike at one of the robots.

"See? That's evidence!"

"Nice costume, kid." Your dad squinted at the screen and then glanced back at the road. "Look, do me a favor, and don't let fake videos on the internet warp your brain. Okay? That stuff is not real."

"Fake videos?! I recorded this myself!" You threw your arms in the air.

"Right, and I'm the king of England."

"Unbelievable." You put the phone back into your pocket and fold your arms tighter, sinking into the seat with a pout.

"If you’re not gonna do anything to find Uncle Baxter, then— I dunno. I have to. If he’s a criminal—"

"Which he is," your dad cut in, firm and weary.

"Then shouldn’t he be in jail?" You completed.

He sighed, rubbing his jaw and scratching his beard. "Maybe. But that’s not your job. That’s the cops'. And let’s be real—you’re not exactly law enforcement material, kid. Not in that ‘Space Heroes’ t-shirt and with those little chicken arms. Just… leave it alone. Please."

"I know you love him. And I—" He sighs. "Well, he’s still my brother. But he made his choices. Don’t get caught up in his bullshit, okay?"

You stared out the window, the glass suddenly fogging from your breath.

"I’ll… I’ll try, dad."

-----

"Sorry, dad."

Over the past few weeks, whenever your father was out for work, you'd turn your room into a crime board— articles, notes, printed maps, and odd bits of evidence scattered across your desk and your bed. As much as you loved your dad, you couldn’t ignore what your gut—and your heart—told you. Your uncle meant the world to you, even if he was a bit eccentric.

You owe your love for science and robotics to him. The one who helped you build your first hot chocolate-spewing volcano, who stayed up late soldering wires and testing circuits with you. He took you to your first robot fight tournament, and together, you built a champion.

Your gaze drifted to the wall, to the collages of memories and trinkets and memories you had with your family. One photo caught your eye—your younger self, beaming atop your uncle’s shoulders, a gold medal hanging proudly from your neck. The robot you two built gleamed in the background like a loyal knight after a bloody battle. You smiled softly at the memory.

Maybe you should have known there was something odd about your uncle, the way he still held decade old grudges as if he was wronged just a couple of minutes ago, but you knew there was some good inside of him too— in some hidden part he only revealed to you, but it was there.

And that's why you couldn't just forget about him. He was still out there, and you needed to find him. Even if it meant lying to your dad.

You'd buried yourself in research these last two weeks— downloading articles, compiling headlines, and cross-referencing every bizarre incident you could find in New York. Ninjas. Criminals appear tied in alleyways, ready to be taken by the cops. Strange sightings. You didn’t know how it all connected yet, but you had to believe it did.

Two shurikens lay side by side on your desk. One bore a flower emblem, delicate and strange. The other, a crude engraving of a foot. You trailed your finger over the marks and tapped them both thoughtfully, then lay back on your bed with a groan, holding the flower-emblazoned star above your head.

"Okay," you whispered.

You turned the weapon over in your fingers as if some great truth might reveal itself if you just stared hard enough. Maybe, if you focused—just a little more—something would click.

Then your hand slipped, and you grasped it a bit too tightly in the sharp edge.

"Ow!" You hissed, shaking your hand and instinctively sticking your bleeding thumb in your mouth.

You shake your hand and instinctively shove your bleeding finger in your mouth. Welp, at least your tetanus shots were up to date.

You sighed and let your head fall back onto your pillow. "Maybe dad was right. This is way over my head. If the cops can’t figure it out, what am I supposed to do?"

But as you sat up to retrieve the fallen shuriken, your eye caught where it had landed—smack on top of a forgotten article.

You crawled over and snatched it up. The piece of paper interested you. A piece about a little restaurant in Chinatown. Harmless, at first glance. Just some local spot run by a blind man named Mr. Murakami. But it seemed to have something else to it.

The article mentioned how the area had been under the Purple Dragons’ control for years… some local thugs. Nothing new, but interestingly, a neighbor had reported strange noises coming from the restaurant one night. A fight. Some type of loud disturbance. But when questioned about the occurrence, Mr. Murakami only offered one cryptic statement:

He’d been saved.

By four mysterious samaritans.

Your heart gave a thump. Four. Four mysterious samaritans. What else did that remind you of?

You scrambled through your notes until you reached a notebook, and you flipped through the pages until you reached your sketches of the four strange turtle people you saw fighting your uncle weeks ago.

You looked down at the ninja star with the flower again, a slow smile forming on your face.

"Some Chinese food sounds pretty good right now."

----

The bell above the door gave a soft ding as you stepped into Murakami’s restaurant. The warmth hit you first—savory steam, old wood, soft chatter. The place smelled like soy broth, sesame oil, and oddly comforting.

"Welcome," said the old man behind the counter. "Please, sit anywhere you like."

You chose one of the seats farther away, dropping your backpack beside you as casually as you could. From here, you had a clear view of most of the dining area. Perfect.

A few minutes later, he shuffled over. "What can I get for you?"

You leaned in a little and gave him the small wooden token from the ordering machine outside.

Mr. Murakami ran his finger over the small piece of wood, lips curling into the faintest smile. "Ah, pizza gyoza."

"I never heard of it before," you said, voice low. "But it sounds good."

He gave a slow, approving nod. "My invention. Strange, but comforting. Not many request it—but I always remember who does." Then, without another word, he turned and slipped behind the swinging doors, the muffled hum of the kitchen swallowing him up.

The moment the swinging doors closed behind him, you started moving. You popped open your backpack and pulled out a tiny spy cam— something you’d built yourself back when you and Baxter used to sneak them into science fairs for fun. You’d hollowed out a fortune cookie holder and disguised the lens in the plastic.

You slid out of your seat, took a quick glance around, then crouched low by the condiment shelf near the counter. You tucked the fake cookie holder behind a soy sauce bottle, adjusting it slightly so the lens had a wide view of the dining room.

Then you slipped back into your seat just as Murakami returned, a small plate in hand.

"Pizza gyoza," he said with quiet amusement. "Fresh from the pan. Careful—they bite back."

You smiled awkwardly. "Thanks."

----

The glow of the computer screen paints your face in pale blue. Noodles gone cold and abandoned somewhere in a far corner of your desk. Eyes rimmed red from hours of squinting. Your room is dark except for the screen and a small desk lamp.

Click. Fast-forward. Click. Rewind. Pause.

You exhale through your nose, leaning in, you rub your eyes as you watch the pixelated footage from Murakami’s restaurant. The camera has the perfect angle for the dining area of the restaurant, but so far, you haven't seen anything but the ordinary noodle shop customers come and go.

You shove your chair back from the desk and grab your controller, flopping onto the bed while the footage plays on screen. The screen keeps playing as you mash buttons in a half-focused blur. You pause the game occasionally to squint at the screen, chewing your lip.

Later, your controller sits forgotten on the floor, amidst the crumbs of potato chips. You’ve swapped it for an old edition of Space Heroes, propped open on your knee while the footage fast-forwards again. You dog-ear the page, frown at something offscreen, rewind three seconds, but it was only a small glitch in the footage. You huff and hit play again.

You lay on your bed, pizza box open, slice hanging limply in one hand as grease drips down your wrist. Your other hand hovers over the keyboard. You're not even chewing—just watching.

The hours tick by. You curl up in your hoodie, hair messy, computer still running. Occasionally, you mutter to yourself, jot something down on a sticky note stuck to the desk: 'Murakami - hang out spot for the turtles or dead end lead?'

You finally slam the pause button mid-bite—something flickered on screen. You squint, eyes scanning the screen. You rewind slowly. Frame by frame.

The restaurant doors burst open with a clatter and a chorus of laughter, echoing off the walls before the turtles even fully enter. Mr. Murakami barely flinches—he just turns from the kitchen with his usual gentle smile.

"Welcome, my friends," he says warmly, folding his hands in front of his apron. "What can I get for you today?"

"Only pizza gyoza, the two best food groups in one beautiful bite-sized dumpling!" The orange-masked turtle — Mikey, you recall from earlier — executes an unnecessary but impressive backflip, landing with a flamboyant dab. You lift one eyebrow and write 'EXTRA' close to a small doodle on your notebook.

The red-masked turtle shoves past him with a grunt, clearly unfazed.

"Just feed him before he starts breakdancing."

"Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Murakami San." The turtle with the katanas and the blue mask steps forward, sitting on a stool close to the balcony.

"I should be thanking you," Mr. Murakami chuckles as he heads back into the kitchen. "My restaurant has never been so popular."

"What? But you’re the best, Mr. Murakami-san!" Mikey says with genuine affection, flopping into a chair like he owns the place.

You lean in closer to the computer screen, the blue glow reflecting in your eyes as you scribble notes in the growing margins of your notebook.

Over the next few weeks, this becomes your ritual for the weekend. Like clockwork, the turtles show up— generally on the saturdays, always full of energy and always hungry.

Mr. Murakami greets them like family. He serves up steaming plates of his strange but irresistible pizza gyoza, the sight of it makes your mouth water every espionage session. The turtles tease. They act like teenagers. They act like brothers— because they are, as you come to find out.

The blue-masked one is Leonardo. Calm, composed, looks like the leader of the group— though he’s not above wrestling over the last dumpling from time to time.

The red-masked one is Raphael. Hotheaded, sharp-tongued, but protective. He’s the type to tease his brothers mercilessly… and deck anyone who tries to do the same.

Donatello, the tallest, wore a purple mark and carried himself with a quiet intensity. He’s clearly the brain of the group, deadpan and sarcastic, his humor bone-dry and dipped in irony. You find yourself rewinding his lines more than once, smirking quietly in your dark room at each particularly funny quip.

And then there’s Michelangelo — Mikey. Loud, lovable, chaotic sunshine in a shell. The heart of the team and the most likely to get distracted mid-sentence by food. You find yourself laughing out loud at his antics more than once— and as weird as it is— and you slowly warm up to these strange mutant teens and become more curious over their lives, where they live, how they came to be. They would discuss bits and pieces here and there, but putting them together was like trying to solve a rubik's cube while colorblind.

Sometimes they talk about someone named April — a mutual friend, from the sound of it. They talk about her school, homework, the brother's tease Donatello for apparently having a crush on her— so you assume she must be a human girl. Probably.

And then—bingo. One of them mentions coming back next weekend, some type of celebration with the April girl.

You pause the footage, rewind it just to hear it again. Confirmed.

You swivel to the second monitor and grab the calendar off your wall, your chair groaning dramatically under your weight. Popping the cap off your marker with your teeth, you circle next Saturday with a bold, aggressive red loop.

----

"Hey, turtle people, you may not know me, but I sorta know you." You gesture with your hands, speaking to no one in particular as you pace nervously in the empty alleyway behind Murakami's noodle shop. You wince. "No, I sound like a stalker." Being a stalker is one thing, but sounding like it? Bad.

You stare at a faded graffiti mural on the wall—some pin-up anime girl on a motorcycle, winking like she knows how ridiculous you sound. "Turtles, we need to talk. It's about Baxter Stockman." You say, firmer this time. You sigh, too intense, it'd be a bad start.

"Hey, turtle-men, I heard you're good guys. Can you help me?" This one was even worse. You groan. "Maybe I should have practiced this earlier."

Your monologue is cut short at the sound of boots scraping pavement.

"Well, well… what do we got here?"

Your stomach drops.

Three figures emerge from the shadows behind you—leather jackets gleaming under flickering streetlights, tattoos curling up their necks like living things. One of them taps a pipe against his palm.

You smile nervously. Right, you were just standing in a random alleyway in Chinatown.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble." You stammer out.

"Who's said anything about any trouble?" One of them smiles. "Just give us your wallet and nobody gets hurt.

Your nervous smile fades as fear coils in your chest. You swallow hard, heart pounding, and slowly reach into your pocket with trembling fingers.

You pull out your wallet and hold it out, your voice barely a whisper. "Here. Just—take it."

One of the men snatches it with a scoff, flipping it open and rifling through the contents. A transit pass. Your library card. The pitiful remnants of your weekly allowance scraped together from your dad's coffee jar.

Then it slips out—your lucky Captain Ryan card.

It flutters to the dirty pavement like a fallen leaf, landing face-up in a puddle of city grime.

You stare at it in quiet horror. That card had survived middle school lunches, bus rides, and an accidental trip through the washing machine. Now it just laid there—soaked and stepped on—like your last shred of control.

"There’s almost nothing in here," the taller thug grumbles, clearly annoyed.

"H-Hey," you say, trying to stand your ground even as your voice cracks, "That’s all I have…"

"Fine. Hand over your phone."

That was your last lifeline. Your only way to call for help. Your only connection to your dad. To anything. You had photos and recordings and backups of all of your research in there.

But the look in their eyes says this isn't a negotiation.

Your fingers twitch toward your jacket pocket. Your mind races for a way out.

Just as your fingertips brush the edge of your phonecase, a heavy thud shakes the alleyway behind the thugs.

A shadow lands hard, crouched low—muscles taut, orange bandana fluttering like a warning flag in the dim glow of a flickering neon sign.

"What the—?" one of the Dragons starts to turn.

A nunchaku whip out in a blur of motion, slamming across the thug’s wrist. The metal pipe he’d been clutching clatters to the concrete. Another thug lunges, but Mikey's already moving— fluid and fast.

One thug groans on the ground, holding his stomach. Another stumbles backward, dazed, before Mikey sweeps his leg out and sends him tumbling into a stack of trash cans.

You stare—stunned—mouth slightly open. It’s him. The one from before.

After thoroughly kicking the thugs' butts with a whirlwind of honed ninja skill and just as much chaotic, childlike silliness, the alley is left scattered with groaning bodies, dented trash cans, and bruised egos.

One Dragon curses under his breath as he scrambles to his feet, clutching a bruised rib. "Freak!" he spits before taking off into the night, the others limping after him in retreat.

As they vanish into the shadows, something clatters against the ground—your phone, knocked loose in the scuffle, spinning to a stop in a small puddle by your feet.

You stare down at it, chest still heaving, pulse in your throat.

Did he just save you?

Michelangelo turns to you, panting lightly, he seemed jumpy, as if he was ready to leave, but upon looking at your face and weighing the fact that you haven't screamed or thrown anything at him so far, he seemed to change his mind. "You okay?" he asks, flashing a crooked, lopsided grin.

Your heart is hammering so fast it feels like it might rip through your ribs. "Y-Yeah," you say, and then glance at your ruined Captain Ryan card. "Well, mostly."

He kneels beside you, picking up your card carefully and giving it a shake like he might dry it out. "Sorry about your... space guy."

"Captain Ryan," you correct instinctively. "First edition. He's my favorite."

"No way! I thought only my bro was into that nerdy show." He gives you a soft smile, despite everything, you laugh. He helps you gather your things. His movements are careful, respectful, but slightly jumpy, ready to run off at any moment.

You sit up, slowly. Still catching up to what just happened. "Thank you for helping me. W-what's your name?"

"Name's Michelangelo, but my friend's call me Mikey."

"It's nice to meet you Mikey." You offer him a smile and tell him your name, he smiles brightly at the situation. "Uhm, listen, I need your help,” you say quickly, standing. "I'm trying to find someone. He disappeared. No one believes me. Not the cops, not my dad—no one. But I think something’s wrong. Something bad.”

"Who's missing?" His brow furrows under the orange bandana, confused at the sudden shift in your mood.

"My uncle." Here it goes. "Baxter Stockman."

Mikey blinks. "Wait, your uncle is Derek Stockboy?"

"Baxter Stockman." You replied firmly, a bit more annoyed than you intended. "But yes, he went missing weeks ago, I'm trying to find out what happened to him. Do you know him? Do you know what happened to him?"

Mikey studies you. Really studies you. His smile’s slowly fading, but not completely gone. There’s caution in his eyes now—but also curiosity.

His attitude was very carefree, he seemed static that a human was talking to him, but you could see the hesitancy, the slight anxiety of getting too close to you, maybe he was suspicious of you in specific? You couldn't fully tell.

"Yeah, sorry. But he's sort of the evil scientist guy type, I don't think he really wants us helping him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He sort of hates me and my bros 'cause we kicked his butt and threw him in a dumpter once." He was laughing as he retoldthe story, but it slowly died ouy when he noticed your face. "Sorry."

Your brain raced. Evil scientist? Dumpster?! None of that tracked with the man who built you soda-spraying robots and named them after Star Trek ships. Well, maybe some of it tracked considering recent events.

You push past the disbelief. "Do you have any idea where he might be now?"

Mikey’s face softens. "I'm sorry girl, but I—" Before he can finish his sentence his phone buzzes in his belt. He turns around and picks up the phone.

"MIKEY, THE PIZZA!" A voice shouts through the speaker.

"MIKEY, YOU’VE BEEN GONE TWO HOURS!" Another voice yells—this one angrier, gruffer. You wince as it practically shakes the phone. "GET HOME RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I’LL KICK YOUR BUTT SO HARD YOU'LL BE STUCK IN YOUR SHELL FOR A WEEK!"

He winces. "Oops. Uh, sorry, gotta go! Nice chatting with ya!"

"Wait—Mikey—!"

Within a few moments Mikey was already jumping and going up the building's wall with incredible ease, even if you wanted to follow him you'd never make it with your chicken legs.

He gives you a smile and wave before he dissapears.

You let your arms fall to your sides in frustration.

"Ugh, c'mon!"

So it is very late and I should be asleep but I actually finished the second part of the secrets we inherit and I am so excited for how it is turning out but I gotta wait to post it, I need to at least pretend I proofread my shit before forcing it upon the world

Caffeinated Masterlist

Started: February 26th, 2025

Last Updated: May 1st, 2025

Requests: Open

Important Reminders

I'm an adult, there might will be 18+ stuff here

There will be darker themes explored in these fanfics, not just possibly smut, but whumps, torture, Major Character deaths, etc, stuff is always tagged so read at your own risk

Characters are aged up to 18+ unless specified

As of now I only write for the 2012 version of the turtles

I take requests, but I don't promise to finish all of them, eventually I will make a rules post but as of now just don't ask for anything non-consensual between a reader and the turtles, T-Cest or Poly, everything else is good to go

I mainly write for the guys but I am not against writing for other characters either like the Shredder's henchmen, Bishop, Karai, Irma, Casey and April!

All

Coming soon...

Leonardo

Coming Soon...

Raphael

Coming Soon...

Donatello

MultiChapter Fics

Statistical Improbability - Donbot x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

The Secrets we inherit - Donatello x Stockman's Niece!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Michelangelo

Coming Soon...

The Secrets We Inherit ♡ Donatello x Stockman's Niece!Reader

A/N: Soo apparently I'm incapable of writing short chapters hahah, this was originally much longer but I decided to keep the first part as a prologue or you guys would have to read through 8k words of my ramblings

This was originally supposed to be only around 5k words at most but it uh, sort of got out of hand, good news is next chapter is mostly done and it will be around 7k words

Summary: After your eccentric uncle, Baxter Stockman, vanishes without a trace, you're the only one who can investigate his sudden disappearance.

But your life takes a dramatic turn when your search leads yoi into the underbelly of the city and you stumble into a world of mutants, ninjas and crime syndicates that controls the city.

Armed with nothing but stubbornness, determination, and a few gadgets you built yourself, you find yourself tangled in a world far stranger— and much more dangerous— than anything you could have ever imagined.

Context: This story starts in Season 1, Episode 11: Mousers Attack! And goes from there.

The reader is Baxter Stockman's niece. Whenever I watched this show, I thought Baxter Stockman had so much Girl Dad™ or Girl Uncle™ energy. I mean, LOOK at him he has such dorky uncle energy, and you can't convince me he wouldn't teach his niece how to weld and create little robots—OF DOOM— while he tells her his world-domination plans.

Content Warnings: There is only a vague phantom of proofreading in between drafts, read at your own caution, mentions of blood, some minor injuries, reader is a certified nerd and a bit dorky, swearing

Word Count: Around 2k words

----

You stared down at your phone, the little red dot pulsing on the screen. That was it—your uncle’s current location.

After weeks of unanswered voicemails, fruitless visits to his apartment, and even showing up at his old job only to be told he was fired after breaking the copy machine and then terrorizing his coworkers not once, byt twice— you’d had enough. If he wasn’t going to call, fine. You’d find him yourself. It wasn’t even that hard. All it took was a little signal triangulation—a trick he’d taught you himself. He’d probably be weirdly proud.

But what didn’t make sense was where the signal led: not to some dingy apartment or cheap motel, but to a run-down warehouse on the edge of the city.

You'd tried the main doors to no avail. You circled the building, looking for a different way in. No windows. No cracks. Nothing. Your gaze drifted up. Maybe the roof? If only you could reach it…

You deflated until you saw a different building with a fire escape and a garbage dumpster close by. You could reach the fire escape with it. But you'd have to jump from one building to the next.

You shifted nervously on your feet. Maybe you could make the jump, maybe.

"This is so stupid," you muttered, walking over and clambering onto the dumpster. Your hand scraped by something sticky and wet, and you gagged, wiping it off on the wall before you pulled yourself up toward the fire escape. "This better be worth it."

With a grunt, you hoisted yourself up and jumped for the fire escape. It creaked violently under your weight and dipped down with a sharp *clank.* You shrieked, clutching it tight.

"Okay… okay…" you breathed, heart thudding. Slowly, you climbed the stairs, hearing your dad’s voice in your head with every step: *This is not something you got from my side of the family.*

At the rooftop edge, you glanced between buildings. It wasn’t a massive gap—but it was enough to make your stomach drop.

"Oh boy…" You hold on and take in a deep breath. Thankfully, you wore regular sneakers today.

You paced nervously in circles, bouncing on your feet and shaking your hands.

"Okay, okay, I'm doing this. I'm really doing this."

You hyped yourself up with little jumps and then sprinted, legs pumping, and leapt—only to hit the edge hard. Pain shot through your ribs as your hands scrambled to catch the ledge. You shrieked as you dangled for a second, kicking, and with one final heave, hauled yourself up.

You flopped onto the roof with a wheeze, the cold concrete soothing your scraped palms.

"Oh, sweet mother of God," you laughed breathlessly, staring at the stars. "Uncle Baxter is so gonna hear about this when I find him."

You rolled to your knees and crawled toward the warehouse skylight. You expected to have to pry it open but instead found a neat, circular hole in the glass—like someone had already cut their way in. A wad of gum was stuck to the discarded glass near the edge.

"…Weird."

You slipped through the opening and dropped onto the catwalk inside. Voices echoed just call out for your uncle. What if they were dangerous?

You crept forward, heart pounding, and tucked yourself behind a stack of rusted crates. Carefully, you peered over the edge—and your jaw dropped.

There was your uncle, hunched over a computer, typing furiously. Looming beside him was a hulking, monstrous dog-man, all claws and snarls. An asian looking man stood at his side. The dog growled something low and threatening, gesturing sharply at your uncle to hurry up—apparently to crack some encrypted phone. Your uncle winced and nodded, typing faster.

To the right, chained against the wall, were two turtle-shaped figures. Humanoid. Green-skinned. Wearing differently colored bandanas around their eyes. Bound by heavy steel restraints. You stared in disbelief. What the hell was going on here?

I must have fallen off the building, I hit my head and now I'm in some kind of hallucinatory coma. That's got to be it. You think, it was the most logical explanation.

You pinch yourself to test the theory. The sharp pain travels up your arm and you flinch, rubbing it to ease the pain.

This is a very realistic hallucination.

"Almost done," You peer up as you hear your uncle's voice. The faint light of the computer reflecting in his glasses. "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, yes! One hundred percent! And processing, processing... C'mon... And finished!"

You crouch lower behind the rusted crate just as glass rains from above—a shattering explosion of light and sound. You raise your head slightly in order to get a better look at whatever just crashed through the ceiling.

The two figures that drop through the ceiling land hard and fast. And they're not just anyone.

They're— More turtles?

"The turtles!" The hulking dog mutant growls, lip curling in fury.

The newcomers straighten—one clad in blue, the other in red. Twin katanas in hand as the one in blue points directly at the chaos unfolding.

"Not so fast, Dogpound! And... Dexter Spackman?" he accuses, voice sharp.

"Baxter Stockman!" the scientist shrieks in frustration.

The mutant dog— or Dogpound as the turtle had called him, doesn’t wait—he charges, massive claws swinging. But Blue is faster. He sidesteps with practiced ease and dashes for the desk. Dogpound snarls— but before he can run after blue, the turtle with the red bandana charges and lands a kick to his muzzle.

You can see Baxter run towards his desk, but before he can swipe the phone off the table, the turtle in blue slams his katana and grabs the phone.

"How did you escape my mousers?" Stockman snarls.

"We didn't." Blue replies, and as soon as he does, dozens of mechanical robots crash through the ceiling, a screech of whirring metal following suit.

The red turtle dashes forward, slashing the chains that held the other turtles. "We’re here to save the day, as usual," he smirks.

"Oh yeah, looks like you guys were doing great." Replied the one in purple with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"You try fighting two thousand robots!" Red snaps back, pointing at the chaos unfolding behind them.

Your jaw is slightly ajar. You can't believe your own eyes and ears, and you're barely breathing. Your fingers scramble for the phone in your pocket. You clutch it tightly and hit record, trying to capture what you can from the safety of your hiding spot.

"Mikey!" Blue shouts. The orange-masked turtle looks up, and Blue tosses the phone to him in a perfect arc. "Keep away!"

Mikey bolts as the dog mutant lunges after him, tearing through crates and cables in a frenzy.

You sink deeper into the tiny corner of your hiding spot as both of them run past you at full speed. You take a deep gulp and pray to whatever gods there are that you don't get found right now.

"Wow! A gamma camera!" You hear a different voice and peak through the space between the crates to see the tallest turtle, the one with the purple bandana analyzing a small piece of tech from one of the mousers. "It detects radio isotopes. That must be what he's tagged you with."

"How do we get it off?!" The red one screams, slicing a mouser in half.

"You can't. It wears off gradually. But if someone else got sprayed, they'd give off a stronger signal."

Suddenly, a startled yelp echoes through the warehouse as the orange-masked turtle crashes down from the second floor in a tangle of limbs and momentum, hitting the ground with a painful thud. Above him, Dogpound lunges—his massive, misshapen hands raised high, jagged claws glinting under the flickering light as he prepares to bring them down like sledgehammers.

But before the blow can land, a blur of motion cuts through the chaos.

A sharp crack splits the air as the purple-masked turtle vaults in from the side, his bo staff whipping through the space between them with precise, practiced force. The impact slams into Dogpound’s side, knocking him off balance and forcing him to stagger back with a furious snarl. The orange turtle blinks up in wide-eyed relief just as his friend plants himself protectively in front of him, staff raised and ready.

"We've got to get Stockman's spray. It controls the mousers!"

"You mean that thing?" Orange asks, pointing at your uncle holding some kind of spray.

"I'll handle this, dog-man! One spritz and they'll be mouser chow!" Your uncle is ready to spritz the turtles with the sttange looking spray, and your stomach drops. What is he going to do? But before you can even process it, the red turtle comes from nowhere, throwing two precise ninja stars at the spray, which explodes on top of your uncle and the mutant.

Without warning, the mousers halt mid-lunge—just as they’re about to shred the shell-backed brothers to pieces. Their glowing eyes flicker, their heads twitching in eerie unison. Then, like a switch flipped, they swivel toward Dogpound and Stockman.

The warehouse erupts into fresh chaos.

With metallic snarls and snapping jaws, the robotic swarm descends on Dogpound, clamping down on his tail and clawed legs. He howls in rage and pain, swatting them away as sparks fly. In the confusion, your uncle bolts—arms flailing, coat streaming behind him—only to promptly trip over one of his own creations and faceplant hard into the concrete.

You facepalm slowly and drag your fingers across your face at the scene.

Dogpound snarls and yanks him upright, holding him with a clawed hand. Just as the brute starts to drag him off, a sharp ring cuts through the chaos.

Ring. Ring.

Dogpound sees the phone on the ground, lost in the chaos. He smiles as he picks it up in between his claws, but his win is short lived.

Thunk! A precisely aimed blade whistles through the air, embedding itself dead-center in the phone. Sparks sputter as the device falls in pieces.

"Hang it up, Dogpound," the turtle in purple calls. "Your call just got dropped!"

Dogpound growls, baring teeth like cracked concrete. Without another word, he barrels forward—and straight through the literal wall—leaving a man-shaped hole in the warehouse as he drags your uncle out into the night, mousers nipping at their heels.

"Nice job, guys!" The blue-masked turtle cheers as the mutant and your uncle run away.

"Yeah!" Red whoops, throwing his arms around his two friends with an exaggerated grin."From here on out, you're the A- team!"

"That’s probably the best we're gonna get out of 'em."

Silence finally settles over the warehouse, the last echoes of battle fading. You hold your breath. Count to ten. Then, slowly, cautiously, you peek out from your hiding spot.

Silence finally settles over the warehouse, the last echoes of battle fading. You hold your breath. Count to ten. Then, slowly, cautiously, you peek out from your hiding spot.

Nothing. Just a wrecked warehouse and your thudding heartbeat.

You try to take the stairs down—but your legs betray you halfway. You tumble with a grunt, landing hard. The impact sends a jolt of pain through your body, and when your hand touches your forehead, it comes away wet. You lay your head on the dirty floor and breathe in deeply, remembering the way your uncle tripped over his own feet just moments before.

"Runs in the family, I guess..." You mutter, dragging yourself upright with a wince. Every step toward your uncle’s desk is a limp, your sprained ankle screaming with each movement.

You reach the desk and stop. Really look around.

The scorched floor. Shattered windows. Broken robots twitching in piles. Gouges in the walls. Your uncle’s half-melted laptop still glowing faintly. Somewhere, a mouser drags itself in a slow circle, one leg sparking.

You limp closer to one of the walls and see a ninja star buried in a metal beam. Cautiously, you grab it and pull it from the beam, looking at the small indent it leaves behind. Your mouth hangs open slightly.

"What the fuck?"

I just found an old oneshot that's sitting half finished in my notes! Would you guys read a oneshot about a reader who is Baxter Stockman's niece and who gets into crime fighting to try to save him from himself, shenanigans ensue and it becomes a cute story of reader and Donnie getting into a relationship like two nerds?

You guys know one thing that grinds my gears a bit about tmmt 2012?

Yes yes, it's Donatello’s crush on April

This guy is literally so sweet. Sure, it's cliché that he ends up having a crush on her just because she is the first girl he's ever seen, but he is literally the first one to say they should help her when the Kraang show up, no hesitation, he makes her gifts like a whole ass PHONE and that music box and he spends hours planning ways to get her to hang out with him.

Yes, some of it is weird—BUT he is otherwise so sweet, and I will never forgive this show for the fact that the writers never allowed April to be a real character and either have the balls to let the relationship develop into something ROMANTIC or to have an actual message with April rejecting Donnie and letting him actually grow, rather than keeping him into a perpetual crush Limbo where he is not allowed to get over April but is never allowed to actually ask her out