Rise Of The Tmnt Oc - Tumblr Posts

Is this Eshra?? This looks so good already holy shit-

One, you are talented

Two, that pose already looks dynamic as fuck holy hell-

Can't wait to get to know them!

Tiny sneak peek because waiting for the completed ref sheet is literally killing me. I am actually expiring as we speak.

The feral boys deserve chin scritches for their traumatic pasts😤

This is absolutely gorgeous! Just like the other two! :]

I genuinely can't get enough of this lil mixed au we got going on! It's so sweet!

Another snapshot you can blame on @lukas6246 and our excessive conversations about what happens when a semi-feral peepaw and a semi-feral dinosaur parrot meet and make a connection.

Be careful when offering chin scritches to a giant, sleep-deprived turtle mutant twice your size and several times your weight.

It's been three hours, according to his phone. His legs are asleep, his hand is tired, and he's pretty sure he's now seen 37% of all of the content ever posted on Reddit. Mikey brought him a drink about an hour ago, along with a wink and a quip about staying hydrated, which earned the little turtle a playful rolling of eyes.

And still Leon is draped half across Eshra's lap, rumbling away, his whole shell vibrating from the strength of it. A couple of times, Eshra has tried to stop scritching the slider's chin and jaw to give his fingers a break, only for Leon to crack open one eye and voice an annoyed chuff, making the yokai chuckle and indulgently resume.

Finally, half an hour later when Eshra is deeply immersed in yet another entirely believable story about somebody's family drama -- twins, why is it always twins? -- he realizes the rumbling has stopped. He looks down in some surprise, then smiles gently when he sees the slow, even rise and fall of Leon's carapace. At last. The big mutant has been having some rough nights, so it's a relief to see him properly asleep. Eshra strokes his head a few times, earning himself a sleepy noise he hopes is of contentment, before finally letting his hand drop onto Leon's upper carapace, his feathers spread out over his friend's shell like a protective blanket. He shifts just enough to start feeling some tingling in his legs, wiggles his toes, and goes back to the tale of the lady who had twins with her brother-in-law and wants to know if she's really the asshole here, or if her own twin sister is just overreacting.

A familiar footstep makes his crest twitch, much like how a cat might flick an ear when its attention is caught, and he glances up just enough to catch sight of Leo from the corner of his eye. The young slider is watching his older self… brother… whatever -- Eshra is still getting used to… this whole situation -- with an expression of gentle concern.

Eshra takes this exceedingly rare opportunity to study Leo's face; usually they're too busy snarking and sniping at each other behind Leonardo's back. The kid's older than his years. All of the brothers are, but Leo wears it differently. More heavily. It breaks Eshra's heart, while at the same time making that old, familiar rage against the krang spark and threaten to catch fire. He swallows it down, forces it back, and instead adopts a gentle smile. He doesn't speak, simply lifts the arm he has draped over Leon's back in invitation. Little Leo doesn't say anything either, doesn't even look at the yokai… but he does accept, almost without hesitation, crawling up to sprawl over his adopted older brother's carapace.

Eshra waits for him to settle, then delicately brings his hand to rest on that blue-bandana'd head. He can feel Leo tense under his fingers, but that all melts away when Eshra starts to scritch and pet, and although neither of them will ever mention it, the feathered yokai is pretty damn sure he hears the quietest churring starting up. He swallows a triumphant grin.

Progress.

CHECK OUT MY FRIEND! HE'S DOPE!

THEY WROTE THIS TO TORMENT ME ABOUT OUR SHARED AU (Semi-Feral Polaroids) AND IT JUST BROKE ME

(This specific text isn't canon to our shared au that he writes snippets about, but as an alternate possibility it sure was nice :,] )

Have nice day

Maybe he sees an older yokai back then. Fifteen, twenty years on him, maybe? Hard to tell these days, with the war making everyone old before their time. Still pretty, though. Still vivacious. But starting to show his age just a little. Maybe he wonders what this little yokai was like… before. Before time and war wore him down and dulled his feathers, muted his smile. Maybe he wonders what it would be like to see the pretty yokai dancing for himself, for the sheer joy of it, and not just trying to distract and entertain the little ones from the hell they live in, wearing a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Years later, but also years before, maybe he sees a pretty, vivacious yokai dancing for the sheer joy of it near the fountain in the Hidden City. Dancing like nobody's watching. Dancing like he doesn't care if they are. Their eyes meet across the square, and Leonardo knows those eyes, even if they don't yet know him.

We all know I'm never going to actually write this fic, but the concept is living rent-free in my head now.

THIS

THIS RIGHT HERE??

THIS IS PURE SKILL, AND I JUST HAVE TO SHARE IT

What's Your Favorite Flower?

A little thing I wrote after considering what Eshra's answer would be. Takes place during the Bad Future™.

Rating: G

It’s such a minuscule thing, really, and in a normal world, a sane world, he never would have noticed it. Why would he? But the world isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane, and it hasn’t been for years, and so in this hellscape of shattered shades of gray all overlaid with a hellish red sky, the tiny splash of yellow catches his eye.

On feet as quiet as a cat’s paws, the yokai dips and darts across the torn up, rubble-strewn asphalt of… Bleecker Street, he thinks, near 11th, his dancer’s steps carrying him towards that incongruous dot of color. Every sense is in overdrive, like they have been since the invasion, but nothing trips his internal alarm, and he allows himself this brief moment of curiosity.

It’s a dandelion, he realizes after a frankly embarrassing number of seconds. Miraculously, the little yellow blossom is still clinging to life in this broken world, stubbornly reaching for the demonic sky and spreading its leaves to catch what little true sunlight might still filter through the red haze.

Eshra’s breath catches in his throat, an unexpected upsurge of emotion he has to swallow down hard, lest he risk making a noise and giving away his position. He reaches out almost without realizing it, his fingers stopping a hair’s breadth from the sunny petals. Somehow, even here, at the epicenter of the apocalypse, life endures. It persists, in spite of death, in spite of ruin, in spite of the krang.

The urge to protect the tiny flower, to uproot it and carry it somewhere safe, out of the reach of careless hound claws and crushing droid feet, is almost overwhelming. The fear of some mindless krang zombie shambling across this particular patch of broken concrete and heedlessly snuffing out this tiny spark of life has Eshra reaching for the dandelion again, for a moment intent on digging it up and spiriting it to safety. He nearly has his claws in the dirt before he stops himself, something that might be his conscience nipping at the edge of his mind. What right has he to impose his will on this precious, stubborn little thing? Why does he think he knows better? He draws his hand back, clutching it against his chest and instead simply taking a few cherished moments to just… look. Look and breathe and have just a minute’s worth of peace.

He goes back every day after that, each time terrified he won’t remember where the dandelion is, or worse, that something has happened to it while he’s been away. Each time, though, his fears are unfounded, and he finds his flower right where he left it, still as bright as the sun they can no longer see and still as insistent that it is going to live.

The day he spots a puff of white instead of the usual splash of yellow, Eshra’s heart jumps in his chest. Almost without care he hurries the last few dozen yards and crouches down next to the dandelion, which has turned from a sunburst blossom to a tiny cloud, and he's smiling a smile he’s forgotten he has. The yokai cups his hands around the seeded flower, a scrap of cloth in his fingers as a shield between the dandelion and the rest of the world. Then carefully, so very carefully, he blows on the puff, which shivers and quivers and at last releases its grip on its scores of minuscule seeds, allowing them to float safely into Eshra’s makeshift net.

After folding the cloth into a secure little sachet and tucking it into one of his supply pouches, Eshra finally lets himself touch his flower, a single delicate fingertip resting on the now bare seed head.

“Thank you,” he whispers, soft as the dandelion’s seeds, “for reminding me.”

*DIES*

SHES SO PRETTY OH ITS LOOKS LIKE A TAROT CARD IM TEARING UP AUGH YOU DID IT TRADITIONAL STYLE MY MAN AUAHSGYRGA THE CLOUDS HER MARKINGS SNIFF- ANABEUWVVYAAFWTAFWFGRGWTAGEGYAGW

OH GOD I JUST SAW THE TURTLES COLORS HANDING FROM THE MOON AJAHAAYHWVRGSVAUHANAJAHRHKTBAGAGTHJAGARAFFARAFGRHRGAFAFTGGAGS

for @smol-bean-boi13 's 100 dtiys!! this was really fun to do :>