🫢🤯🥹

Hey, how are you so amazing??????

Heh that's the last name don't wear it out 😉👉🏼👉🏼

Well according to Jim Rohn, “You are the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with.”

Soooo….who says that I'm not just trying to become amazing like you through simple osmosis?

I can not tell you the noise of absolute glee that escaped me at this response. Like truly. Twas, “out of this world” 😏😉👉🏼👉🏼

Black holes are actually what got me into astronomy and as such they are very near and dear to my heart. My new current affinity is the different type of nebulae. They are so pretty and I love how they’re called planetary nurseries. If you ever want to chat about all the cool Astronomy stuff let me know 🤙🏼 Till then I’m going to go work on introducing Vincent to Crit as my poor boy is a bit shy. He’s going to need some practice before he actually tries to talk to him 😅

...I was asked concerning Crit's colors, SO--

*bear poses at you before cackling madly and head butting you in affection*

You is de fren, and fren needs much of the lovin AND YOU CANT STOP ME BWAHAHAHA😈🧡🙌🏼

i love u unconventional ways of showing affection

For Miss @tapakah0 based off her “Jacobs Ladder AU”

Words can not adequately express how this little scene moved me. Leo and Mikey are very near and dear to my heart, so to see such a tender moment between two younger brothers is EVERYTHING to me.

King is such a powerful statement as well because younger Leo wanted nothing more than to be recognized by his brothers as someone worth noticing hence dubbing himself as “King Leo.” So to see Leo cRaDLiNg his littler brother and giving him the title Leo has wanted so much as a child just…it hit me man. Mikey is Leo’s hero and I really wanted to try and capture that moment of the relief and joy of seeing his brother come back even if it was just for a moment. Also *tips hat and bows in Tapa’s direction* Been a big fan for a fat moment ma’am and just want to express my gratitude for you doing what you’re doing. Words won’t ever be enough to express how incredibly impressed and in awe of your skill and abilities. You’re inspiring people honey, and the worlds honestly a better place because of what YOU do.

Please please PLEASE don’t forget that and know you are loved 😉🧡

Fallen

No…ok so listen *massages forehead* For the last time. I didn't “fall” in love. This was a premeditated attack!

I was tripped because let me tell you…I DiDnT fALl wILliNgLy!

This was not my fault! Don't you understand the gravity of this situation?!

I hAvE nEvEr RePoStEd SoMeThInG sO fAsT iN my LiFe. THE BELOVED BESTIE SPEAKS HER TRUTH! HUZZAH! AND ONCE AGAIN PREACH SISTAH🙌🏼🧡🙌🏼

“But in all honesty I have felt more unnerved and off put by sentences written by male published fantasy authors then I have teenagers and fans writing for fun.”

This whole video is great, especially with talking about the “fanfiction is the fast food of literature” take. But in all honesty I have felt more unnerved and off put by sentences written by male published fantasy authors then I have teenagers and fans writing for fun.

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

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

THEY FINALLY MET AND ITS NOT ANGSTY! ITS WHOLESOME! IS F!LEO BOWING LOWKEY TO BABY LEO?! IS HE?!

SO MANY EMOTIONS MUST KEYBOARD SMASHICJSVDISPSLEHRIWJSBDB

Don’t mind me almost getting into an accident because I read this while driving 😅

Part 9!

You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this topic

Part 1

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🏹💝☝🏼😊🫶🏼🙏🏼