Fanfiction Progress, Ahoy!

I really should wait to post this until I have the first chapters of my incredibly self-indulgent Rise of the TMNT fanfiction up on A03 (I’m WeavingStars on there, I just haven’t posted anything yet), but I got way too excited about this chapter and wanted to share.

For those of you who haven’t read my first drabble, I’ll link it here.

For simplicity’s sake, I’ll tell you that the story is focused on my Ragamuffin cat mutant OC (who is quite heavily based on myself), her interactions with the cast, and her eventual romance with one of the boys.

Without further ado, here it is:

Warnings: Mentions of phobias, anxiety, mild self-destructive behavior, some naughty thoughts on the part of Donatello.

Scene: Donatello catches Michan watching a nature documentary in the projector room.

A narrator with a British accent was describing the hunting behaviors of a lioness. Michan was seated on one of the overstuffed bean bags, watching the projected images against the wall of the lair with interest. She didn’t even seem to register that Donatello had entered the room.

“Are you…watching a nature documentary?”

The Ragamuffin jumped a bit, startled. She turned to the purple-clad genius and after taking a breath, she smiled. “Yes! I am! Do you want to watch with me?”

He paused for a moment, considering the offer, before sitting down on the floor beside her bean bag.

“I…was not aware you enjoyed these types of programs.” He turned to her, face betraying his confusion. The pink-haired mutant blinked for a moment, cocking her head slightly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked, sounding almost as confused as he felt.

“I mean, It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “…you’ve never displayed any interest in anything of an academic nature before.”

Michan frowned slightly, her large ears lowering a bit. Even with his difficulty with social cues Donatello could tell he might have said the wrong thing.

“First of all, I haven’t shown any interest in front of you.” She clarified, holding up her index finger and pointing at him. “I talk about art with Mikey literally all the time. Not just cartoons and street art, either. Art history is something I’m very interested in and actually know something about.”

Donatello was doing his best not to show how surprised he was. He knew she’d been spending quite a bit of time holed up in his artistic brother’s room working on secret projects, but he hadn’t thought they’d been talking about anything on that level.

He also wasn’t used to her speaking to him this way. Her speech had changed. Ordinarily she was either painfully shy or bubbly and silly. This was different.

“Okay. So, you like art history.” He ventured. “Are you interested in any other subjects?”

Her expression changed from one of irritation to one of pride. Her ears raised, and the tip of her tail twitched in excitement next to him.

“Lots of them! I’m really good at English. I read a lot and I love to write.” She beamed. “That’s probably my best subject. But I also love history, and science, and languages, and music, and psychology, and theater, and folklore, and mythology…”

She counted off each listed subject on her fingers, and Donnie found his eyes growing wider with each entry.

“To be honest…the only subject I’m abysmally bad at is math. Like, you have no idea.” She admitted, her ears drooping a bit. “It’s always been my weakest area and it kept me from doing a lot of things I wanted to do in science and music. Even basic math is hard for me. It’s why I keep my calculator app ready on my phone.”

Donatello found it incredibly difficult to relate to someone struggling in an area that came so easily to him. However, that wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Why haven’t you ever talked about this in front of me? I haven’t even heard you mention any of this to the others!” He asked, genuinely flabbergasted at this point.

Michan’s ears pressed nearly flat against her hair, and she didn’t meet his eyes, looking at her hands with a downcast expression.

“I…I don’t really make a habit of showing off unless something comes up in conversations. And so far, it hasn’t. So, I haven’t, I guess.”

Again, Donatello couldn’t understand where she was coming from. “Why not?”

She rubbed her forearm, something he was beginning to realize was an anxious habit of hers.

“I want them to like me. I don’t want to get on their nerves. If I show off too much, they might not want to hang out with me anymore.”

Multiple emotions sparked through the resident genius at once. He was confused as to why their opinions mattered so much to her. He was angry and frustrated that she’d been suppressing what was obviously a large part of herself in order to please everyone.

Most of all, he realized once he’d taken a few seconds to process, he was hurt that she didn’t feel comfortable enough to share any of this with him. He was the academic. He was the one who would have understood, even encouraged her.

What kinds of conversations could they have had by this point? What could they have learned from one another?

What could they have shared?

“You could have told me!” He protested, pressing both hands against his chest. “Why didn’t you?”

Michan finally lifted her eyes to meet his. She looked on the verge of tears.

“You’re a genius.” Her voice was too heavy, too shaky, too small.

She was rubbing her arm to the point of bruising at this point.

“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with anything?” He was trying hard to resist the urge to grab her hand and stop the destructive behavior.

“If I annoyed the others by being too smart, I would annoy you by not being smart enough. I’m not your equal. I’m not even close.”

Tears did fill her eyes at this point, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop them.

Donatello stared at her in shock. He had never been put into this position before.

He’d debated with countless experts (and those who only professed to be) in various fields of study online, of course. He’d won most of said debates, and while they reacted to said victories with varying degrees of maturity, none of them had seemed intimidated by him.

At least at first. Afterwards was a different matter.

Then there was the matter of his brothers. Sure, they loved him, but they were largely dismissive of his interests and attempts to discuss them. April was quite good at listening to him and the two often had decent conversations. She’d never shown a lack of confidence when it came to speaking her mind about something.

This was the first time he could recall someone being so frightened of his disapproval. He realized that his opinion of her was important to her. That somehow, she felt unworthy of even attempting to hold more than a surface level conversation.

Memories of having to “dumb down” his own explanations for his father and brothers flooded in. He did it for years before giving up in frustration. Deep down, he wanted his brothers to listen to him. He wanted his father to pay an interest.

Now there was someone in front of him who he might have been able to share those countless ideas and rich conversations with, and she was afraid of him?

This would not do.

“Stop that.” He finally reached out to still the hand pulling at her arm. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Pale blue eyes looked down at his hand on hers, before looking back at him in a mixture of surprise and shame.

“If you say you’re sorry, I will get upset at you.” He warned, and she closed her mouth before she repeated her bad habit of over apologizing.

“First of all, that’s nonsense. Do you have any idea how refreshing it would be to have someone to engage in decent conversations with around here?” He released her hand to gesture with his own as he spoke.

“I mean, Newton’s sake, Michan! Do you see Leo, Mikey or Raph ever take any time to talk about anything other than comics, skateboarding or pigeons with pizza in their mouths with me? Do you?” His hand movements were agitated now.

“What makes you think I’d care whether or not you can discuss mathematics with me? Does it really matter if you can’t match my knowledge of a subject perfectly? I’m happy to have literally anyone to talk about these things with at all!” He threw his hands in the air in frustration, before folding them over his chest.

Michan’s eyes widened almost impossibly, traces of tears lingering. She put a hand over her mouth, pressing her fingers against her lips.

Had he gone too far? With her it was difficult to tell at times. He didn’t regret speaking his mind, but should he have tried to put it more gently?

Finally, after a few seconds she lowered her hand from her mouth and spoke.

“You really don’t mind if I don’t know as much as you do?”

“Of course not. I don’t expect anyone to know as much as I do about anything. I stopped that a long time ago.” He wasn’t bragging, it was simply a statement of fact.

“What matters is that you try. As long as you make an attempt, I’ll be happy.”

She lifted her hand again to press her knuckle into her lips, looking down at a crack in the floor. Donatello realized that putting pressure on her lips seemed to be a soothing gesture for her.

An unbidden image of him pressing his own against hers to soothe her sprang into his mind.

He felt his face grow hot under his mask and he attempted to dispel the thought by concentrating on literally anything else.

The coldness of the concrete underneath his folded legs. The flickering of the hunting lioness projected on the wall. The slightly damp smell of the lair. It wasn’t working. His eyes kept returning to her lips, and the knuckle against it.

He’d never felt so jealous of a person’s index finger in his entire life.

Eventually, she released her mouth again. To his relief, a small smile appeared.

“You really want to talk to me about things?” She asked timidly, hope in her voice.

He sighed. “I literally just finished saying that. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

The Ragamuffin nodded, finally accepting his words. “Okay. What do you want to talk about first?”

Donatello pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin. She’d listed quite a range of subjects she had some interest in, if not expertise. Where should he start?

“Tell me, what do you know about lions?” He asked, pointing at the wall where the moving image of the lioness pouncing on the haunches of some sort of antelope was projected.

Her expression brightened, and her ears perked up considerably. “Well, for starters…”

Donatello found himself pleasantly surprised at how much she knew about the subject. He listened to her excitedly describe the cooperative habits of lion prides, pointing out that it was the females that did most of the important work (a fact that made him curious about her views on feminism, though he had a good guess).

She knew about tidbits such as males being given the right to eat from a kill first, male lions recognizing all cubs in the pride as their own, the brutal dangers of rogue lions encroaching on territories to take over existing prides, and even affectionate behaviors such as nuzzling and grooming to establish bonds.

The last part made his cheeks grow hot again, and he was grateful for the dim lighting in the projector room. He wondered for a moment whether a feline cat mutant might exhibit such behaviors, then considered banging his head against the concrete.

The conversation carried on long after the documentary was finished. The video feed on the wall switched to another show about storm chasers, then one about the rainforest. Michan chatted animatedly about what she knew and listened to his expertise where hers lacked.

The soft-shell couldn’t recall ever having so much fun talking to someone, and for so long. April was a very close second, but even she tired after so much of his info dumping and changed the subject. It was never malicious, he knew that.

But Michan wasn’t just humoring him, she was engaging him. She offered her input and opinions, excitedly sharing her knowledge and absorbing his own. He found himself feeling practically giddy as they took turns speaking, each one of them occasionally apologizing for speaking over the other in their enthusiasm.

It was only until Michan’s eyes suddenly grew wide with fright that the conversation stopped. Donatello’s drawn-on brows furrowed in confusion, until he looked to where she was staring at the wall.

A swimming great white shark was projected there, knifing its way through the clear blue water. The camera then drew its focus on the cold dark eyes, then the jagged rows of teeth, and finally to the side-to-side movement of its caudal fin.

“Turn it off.” She begged, her voice barely a whisper. “Turn it off, please.”

Donatello complied, switching off the projector and returning to her. Even in the dimmed lighting he could see how distressed she was. Her arms were hugging her torso and she was visibly shaking. Her ears were flat against her head and her tail fur was on end.

“Michan…” He knelt in front of her. “Do you have a phobia of sharks?”

She nodded vigorously; terror reflected in her eyes. “I’m scared of a lot of things. But they scare me the worst.”

He didn’t enjoy seeing her like this, but his curiosity got the better of him. “Why do you think that is?”

She made a move to start rubbing her arm again but stopped herself.

“I’m not 100% sure, but I think it started when I was really little. There was a shark week special on TV and I made the mistake of watching it. I don’t know how old I was exactly. All I remember was seeing blood and teeth and how cold and evil those eyes looked.”

She glanced down. “It’s weird. Tigers are deadly too, but I’m not afraid of them the same way. There’s something about how sharks almost seem like machines, like they don’t have any feelings other than hunger. I know they’re important to the ecosystem and that the ocean would suffer without them, but I hate them.”

Donnie listened. He was impressed that in spite of her fear she acknowledged the need for such creatures to exist in nature. Her terror was also quite rational.

He contemplated for a moment, then realized there was a way he might be able to reassure her. But it would require him admitting something he was ashamed of.

He made his decision.

“Beach balls.”

Michan’s eyes raised to meet his, but Donatello’s were cast down to his knees. “What?” “I’m afraid of beach balls.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Why?”

He shook his head. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. But I do remember being pummeled with them relentlessly once when I was small. I recall my glasses being broken. Pa-pa was not happy.”

“You used to wear glasses?” She asked, surprised. “Why don’t you wear them anymore?”

“My eyesight improved with time. I can’t quite explain it. By the time I was ten I didn’t need them anymore.”

“Huh.” She paused. “I used to wear glasses too.”

“You did?” He glanced up from his knees to meet her eyes.

“Yup. Purple ones, in fact. They were kind of pink in the light, but they were purple.” She replied, pointing towards her eyes.

She wore his signature color? He felt his heart beat a bit faster.

“Why don’t you wear them anymore?” He raised a brow, repeating her question.

“Funny thing. After I mutated, I didn’t even realize I wasn’t wearing them until I reached for them on my nightstand the morning after you all gave me my room. Maybe it’s the fact that cats have good eyesight, but I can see better now than I ever have. I see really well in the dark, too. It’s actually super cool.”

“That…actually that is super cool.” He admitted. “Are there any other advantages you’ve noticed now?” “Yeah! I mean, there are things that suck, like having to deal with all this fur and a tail and all. But I used to have bad back problems and I don’t anymore. My spine is like a slinky.” She laughed, stretching. He flushed a bit as he watched her, hoping that in spite of her darkvision she wouldn’t notice. “I’m a lot more agile, too.”

An odd thought occurred to him, and once again his curiosity won out over tact.

“Do you have papillae on your tongue?” “What?” She asked. The Ragamuffin looked a bit flustered.

“Do you have spines on your tongue? Is it rough like a domestic cat’s?”

In response, she stuck her tongue out. He squinted a bit in the dim lighting to see the surface of it. There were, in fact, no visible papillae. It was smooth, like a human’s.

For some reason, he felt relieved.

Then more unbidden images flooded into his mind, all of them involving said soft tongue, and he felt himself turn absolutely crimson.

“Donnie, are you okay?” She looked at him, concerned. “You got super quiet.”

“I’m fine!” He jolted upright, still in a sitting position but his back was rigid.

“Are you sure? Did I do something wrong?” Anxiety creased her brows, and he mentally kicked himself for reacting in a way that would make her worry.

“N-no. You didn’t do anything wrong.” The soft-shell reassured, getting up from his cross-legged position and standing. He reached out a hand to her.

“Actually, I’m starving. Do you want to see if there are any decent leftovers? Mikey doesn’t ordinarily cook lunch.”

She blinked, then gave him a smile, nodding. She reached her hand out to take his, and he helped her to her feet.

“That sounds good. I’m pretty hungry too. We’ve been talking for ages.”

“Is that a problem?” For a moment, he felt a twinge of anxiety.

“No. It’s nice. I’m just ready for food now.” She laughed.

He breathed what he hoped was a subtle sigh of relief, then gestured for her to follow.

“Come on, then. Let’s see what’s available.”

As the two of them made their way to the kitchen, Donnie let Michan walk slightly ahead of him. He didn’t want her to see his expression in case it betrayed how happy he felt.

Yeah. He could definitely get used to this.

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Tagging @mitsurikanroji23, @purple-flagz, and @acutiewithagun​.

Purple-flagz and acutiewithagun are more familiar with me by my RP account @megumi-sensei. This is where I post most of my art and fiction snippets! Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged.