#there are more turtles in those pictures than you can initially see they’re just hiding a bit

[madigoround]

I took so many pretty pictures at the botanical garden that I will be adding a second part to this because I cannot limit them to ten it was so pretty and there were so many critters

[jadethest0ne]

When the Moon meets the Morning, Chapter 3 - A Sense of Familiarity

Summary:  Raphael is going on missions with Captain Jupiter as he always does when he meets an orange-wearing turtle yokai who feels oddly familiar.

Word Count: 2690

Ratings/Warnings: General Audiences; some minor harrowing moments, but mostly fluff, emotional overload, emotional manipulation, self-deprecation

Notes: Longer chapter this time, but lots of good brotherly bonding! Big thanks to @undercoverwizardninjaturtle, @fraymotiif, and @frasierverse for helping me workshop this (especially to Charmy for the “friend-cheese” exchange). Also, special shout-out to @dovelydraws for creating the concept art for Infinity the phoenix and Buddy the aurax.

Read on AO3 For the RotTMNT Fantasy AU

———-

Raph thought that going on a trek with Mikey would help him understand the kid better, but it only proved to make him even more confused. A few of Raph's initial assumptions about Mikey were correct. He was indeed a turtle yokai - a box turtle to be exact. And he was only about 2 years younger than Raph making him 15. And the reason why he was so far north, despite apparently coming from the Soothing South, was that, like his attire suggested, he was a courier. But between those things, Raph was left with more questions than answers.

For one thing, Mikey was really good with animals. When Raph first introduced him to his aurax, Buddy, Mikey was enamored with what most people took as a rather large and intimidating cattle beast. But Mikey immediately started complimenting his fluffy curls and powerful stature, begging Raph to let him braid his fur. Buddy himself, who, while usually quite friendly, often had trouble distinguishing between roughhousing playtime and calm pets, and yet seemed to understand that Mikey was someone that he should be gentle with. The curly-horned creature even relented at Mikey's touch and flipped over onto his back to beg for belly rubs, which Raph had never seen him trust anyone else to do besides himself and Red Fox. Even the Captain had trouble getting on Buddy's good side sometimes.

Not only that, but it turns out Buddy wasn't even needed all that much to carry the packages, since Mikey owned a phoenix, an actual phoenix, to help him with his cargo and carry Mikey around. The large beautiful bird, he called Infinity, with iridescent feathers of reds, purples, and golds, snuggled up with Mikey often when they slept during their journey. He'd never heard of a phoenix being so close to another being before - yokai or human.

The other thing that really confused Raph was Mikey's personality. The kid was just so trusting.

 "You don't even have a sleeping bag?" Red Fox asked when they were packing their supplies.

 "Well, I DID have one, but there were these guys in purple who asked if they could borrow it a while back. They took some of my other supplies as well and said they'd meet me after I ran an errand. I came back at the meeting time, but they took so long and I had to deliver another package, so I had to leave. I felt bad for missing them so I left a note with a drawing. I hope they're okay," Mikey explains in his usual long-winded way.

 Raph starts to say, "Are you sure they didn't just steal--" before Red Fox cuts him off. "I'm sure it's fine, sweetie, I think I have a spare that you can use."

 "Really?! Thanks! Oooh! It's orange! My favorite color!" Mikey says, happily taking the sleeping bag and hugging it as though it was the best gift he had ever received.

Raph was just perplexed how he hadn't been robbed completely or had something worse happen to him. Then again, another mystery about Mikey was that it was really difficult to say no to the guy. He had somehow perfected the puppy dog look and turned any conversation, even the more negative ones, into something positive and light.

 "You mean you somehow convinced the owner of a castle to let you use it whenever you wanted?" Raph says incredulously.

 "Yeah! He liked my cooking so much he said I could use his summer home in the Soothing South, too!"

 "Man, Mikey, do you have some sort of niceness power?"

 "No, that'd probably be Todd - he's the nicest guy I know! Taught me practically everything! But that's why I wanted to travel! I wanted to learn more!"

 Raph pushes past the fact that he has no idea who Todd is and asks the more pertinent question. "Aren't you afraid of, I don't know, thieves or people tricking or hurting you along the way?"

 "No, not at all. Besides, if there was danger, then Infinity's instincts would let me know!" He gives the large bird he's riding a friendly pat, to which the bird replies with a cheerful squawk.

 Raph highly doubts that Infinity, who seems to be as cheery and naive as Mikey, would be able to sense anything like that.

Then there was the question of why Mikey seemed so familiar. After thinking back on it, Red Fox did often talk about the people she helped guide through the mountains, but he'd rarely met any of them. And he had a hard time conjuring up a memory of any time that he'd met Mikey with Red Fox in the picture. He almost felt closer than that. Like a friend he hadn't seen in a while. Mikey himself certainly kept acting like they were long time friends; constantly hugging him, invading his personal space, grabbing at his belongings to ask about them. Even Raph was beginning to think they had known each other for a long time. Then again, Mikey seemed to act like that with everyone.

 “What do you think of this?” Mikey asks Raph after they had set up camp, suddenly shoving a spoonful of the meal he is cooking into the snapper’s mouth.

 “Mmnghrff--” Raph says intellectually around the wooden spoon and hefty portion of meats and hearty root vegetables that it held. He chews slowly, at first trying to think of some helpful feedback, but then just to savor the flavor. He closes his eyes and hums in pleasure, as the savory sauces roll over his tongue. Raph could see why that one guy let Mikey have free use of his castle and summer home.

 “Mikey,” he says with absolute seriousness. “This is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

 “Really?!” Mikey says sheepishly. “You don’t think I went a little heavy on the cumin?”

 “No, it’s perfect!” Raph says, even though he’s not exactly sure what spice cumin is.

 “Ah great! Well, then dig in!” Mikey says handing some plates over to Red Fox and Raph. As they take the plates, Red Fox chimes in, “One of the reasons why it’s such a joy to guide you on these treks is that I get to taste your cooking again, Mikey!”

 “Aww shucks, Red! Thanks!” Mikey grins widely.

Raph thinks to himself that maybe it was Mikey’s niceness that kept him alive. His naivety was worrisome, but he was also really good at lots of things like that - caring for animals, cooking, and after all, he did help save him from the fire, which brought Raph to a question that he finally voiced out loud on the third day of their trek.

"So how did you do that thing with the fire? You were in the middle of it all and then you like, ate it?"

"Oh, I'm a fire mage!" Mikey says while riding atop Infinity as they make their way through the mountain paths. As a way of demonstration, Mikey cups his hands and produces a tiny ball of fire within them. He holds the fire gently, almost as if he's carrying a tiny animal in the palm of his hands. “Fire doesn't hurt me and I can use it to help with cooking and stuff. It's also why I can keep pretty warm in the winter.” He lifts up his palms and lets the small flame dance in the air. Infinity explores the flame with her beak and nips at it, but Mikey maneuvers the fire just out of her reach. He twirls the small fire around her and she tries to catch it in her beak. He giggles and she squawks happily as they play their little game.

Raph smiles at the display. "Thanks again by the way, for helping out back there."

"No problem! I mean, you had a lot of it handled by yourself. You saved a bunch of people! I'm surprised that you didn't make it into any of the Aetherwave announcements or the news clippings. Just some guy named, er..., Jupiter Jim, was it?"

"Uh, it's Captain James Jupiter, actually." Raph fails to hide his appalled tone. "And of course he was talked about! He saved everyone! He's a famous hero!" Seriously for all his travels, how did Mikey know so little about James Jupiter?!

"Did he, though? I mostly just saw you and Red Fox while I was trying to stop the fire. I saw another guy in some sort of hero suit, but he was mostly staying outside of the forest."

"He was leading! Everyone would've been a mess without his guidance!" Raph tries to bury the annoyance bubbling up in his chest with his adoration of the Captain. "His strong, guiding hand of justice makes us all feel safe!" Raph tries to gain validation from repeating the mantra often used by the Captain himself, but he felt more upset and defiant - as if he was trying to defend the Captain. The Captain shouldn't need defending. Obviously he was great! So why did Raph's stomach twist in such a way?

For once Mikey has something less than a smile on his face. Instead his eyes wander around Raph's entire frame as if seeing something new on him he didn't like.

"I just..." Mikey hesitates. "I just think you should get the credit you deserve. You pulled like three families out of that fire, and at one point you were carrying almost ten people." His face shifts back into a smile. "That's pretty heroic if you ask me!"

Raph eyes him warily. Something about his statements don't really connect at first in Raph's mind. The Captain is the one who is the hero. He's just a student at best. But why did happiness flutter in his untwisting stomach at being called such?

"OH MI GOSH I JUST REMEMBERED!"

The sudden shout makes Raph jump, and a small yelp would've escaped his mouth if Mikey weren't immediately in front of him squishing either side of Raph's face and beaming at him excitedly.

"’Remembered...?’" Raph tries to ask between squished cheeks.

"What I wanted to tell you!" MIkey threw his hands in the air, releasing Raph from his hold. "I wanted to tell you that I like your cape!"

"My cape?"

"Yeah it's like super heroic looking!"

Raph looks at his cape as if trying to see what Mikey sees.

"Oh, and I wanted to know if Buddy knew any female aurax's that could make friend-cheese for me,” Mikey continues.

"Oh, um, thank you?" Raph lets out a small chuckle. "Also, I could, uh, ask around when we get back to town about… ‘friend-cheese?’" Raph thinks a moment before continuing. "Why was that so important though?"

"Because friend-cheese is Todd's favorite, because of the method of farmers asking aurax’s nicely before they milk them."

"N-no, not that." Raph can't help but smile; man this kid's attitude is infectious. "Why did ’ya have to ask about my cape?"

"Because I thought it looked really cool with the flames and the moon and your powers and I wasn't sure then that I'd get a chance to tell you again." Mikey beams brightly enough to show off his gap tooth and rear molars.

"Well, thank you." He's still not used to so many compliments.

He looks to Red Fox with a confused expression, but she just smiles back and says, "He's right, it does make you look rather heroic."

Before Raph can sort his thoughts out on the image of himself as a true hero, he suddenly feels something land on his neck hard enough that he jumps and nearly goes on attack mode, until he sees Mikey's legs trail down the side of his neck. Raph looks up to see Mikey craning his head downward looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes. "Can I ride on your shoulders for awhile? I wanna give Infinity a break," Mikey asks.

Raph gives Mikey a soft smirk and a quiet chuckle. This guy really does have some sort of niceness power. "Yeah, sure," the snapper says.

Mikey punches both fists in the air and his legs stick out as he shouts out a triumphant "Yes!"

"Hey Mikey, we've still got another hour or so before we make our first stop," Red Fox says. "Why don't you tell us one of your stories from your travels?" She then says as an aside to Raph, "He's a very good storyteller by the way; he was able to keep me entertained on our previous trips through the mountains, as well as many other folks along the way."

Mikey looks at her with joyful, watery eyes. "Red Fox, you really think I'm a good storyteller?!"

Red Fox nods sweetly.

Mikey bows as best he can while perched on Raph's shoulders. "Aw shucks! Why thank you, my friend."

The rest of their trek for the day is filled with Mikey's melodious voice recounting several strange tales which continue to add questions to Raph's mind.

---

Mikey's storytelling stopped only long enough to deliver his first package. It was to a local store in a tiny grouping of houses nestled in the mountains. Afterwards, they went to the barely-a-village's tavern to get something to eat before resting for the night. Once in the tavern, and in between mouthfuls of food, Mikey continues to tell his stories to the patrons, which seem to grow in number as the evening wears on. Raph guesses that they don't get many travellers here this high up in the mountains, because they're all enraptured by Mikey's tales. Raph is just finishing up his dinner and he is feeling rather content, allowing Mikey's voice and the patrons' reactions to drift into background noise when he perks up at the mention of his name.

"What?" Raph snaps to attention looking to where he was called.

"Mikey is right, Big Red was indeed quite heroic." Red Fox gives him a pleased look.

Before Raph can figure out if Red Fox is playing some sort of joke on him, Mikey glides over to Raph's side and puts an arm around his shoulder. "And that's when I saw him under the blood moon, with glowing eyes and glowing arms, picking up an entire family of squirrel yokai!" Mikey says sweeping his arms wide. The patrons’ eyes are all on Raph now, and the attention has his heart pounding, though out of sudden stage fright or pride he's not sure. Either way, Raph is sure his face is burning more than it ever had in that forest fire. But luckily the patrons quickly turn back to Mikey as he continues his story. It's weird for Raph to hear Mikey talk about something he did in a similar way that the Aetherwaves trumpet the stories of the great Captain Jupiter. Raph is not worthy of such a grand retelling, but Mikey is so excited about it that Raph just puts on an easy smile and focuses on his theatrics, drinking a bit from his cup to hide his face.

When the story ends the people in the tavern clap in amazement, some even patting Raph on the arm, offering congratulations, but he respectfully waves them off. He's caught off guard a little bit by the look Red Fox gives him. There's a twinkle in her eye and an earnest smile on her face, wrinkling the scar above her nose. Raph buries his face in his cup again before getting up to start pitching a tent for them to sleep in when the tavern keeper insists that they stay the night free of charge as payment for Mikey’s wonderful stories.

Raph feels bad for the tiny hint of suspicion that he has at that moment that maybe Mikey is actually using some sort of niceness spell or something, but he quickly changes his mind when he looks over at Mikey. He's not unhappy, per se - the kid is still smiling - but there's something in his face that falls almost imperceptibly at the suggestion that they stay at the tavern. Noticing Raph's observation of him, his smile brightens and he thanks the tavern keeper for his generosity.

<–previous   ///   next–>

[pilawforhire]

The Hands of Death

- An insight written by Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates, with the support of disclosed accounts contributed by Corazon Jr., the turtle pet companion of the subject of the article. For confidential eyes only. Composed without the permission and knowledge of the aforementioned party.

          Irony is the pair of hands promising death upon the first glimpse—not in the manner of direct hostility and aggressive acts of violence (with the exception of persons deemed an enemy or a threat), but with the literal (perceivably hyperbolic) forewarning of ‘DEATH’ inked across the fingers of both hands—a necessity for symmetrical appeal or a repetition to ensure conspicuity to all persons encountered?—belonging to none other than a Captain, who recruited a motley crew of misfits to embark on a journey of piracy, ultimate destination unknown, of the Heart Pirates.

          The Heart Pirates—of all the words of the English language, and languages across the seas, the name originally struck me as banal and unimpressive. Given his epithet, Surgeon of Death, the stark contrast with the motif of hearts hinted at a mind of questionable sanity (this was never refuted). The ‘Heart Pirates’ detracted from the formidability of his supposed reputation whispered on the grapevine. I had to ascertain for myself in person, indulge my curiosities. Unfortunately, upon our meeting, over time, the perplexities only amassed that eventually, I sought to compile notes to organize my frenzied thoughts. Because the mystery began with his hands, my investigation revolved around them. For, bear with the clichéd saying, but it is often remarked that a person’s hands spoke multitudes about their character and life.

          The regrettable truth, a large population of humans takes our hands for granted. How often did anyone look to their hands with appreciation? Hands provide us with the means to do the things we want. They serve us from an age of infancy, allow us to mold our thoughts into actions, lend aid to accomplishments, and give us with the choice of inflicting harm or offering help.

          Hands that seemed to signify an omen of death to those who had the misfortune of noticing them, they were surprisingly gentle as nimble fingers sutured an open gash on my leg. Naturally, I kept my hands to myself—I did not wish to risk them dismembered, whether momentarily or permanently, as witnessed an occurrence with the crew whenever they acted out of line—though while he patched up my injuries, without the air of jadedness I would expect of a surgeon of his capabilities, tending to superficial wounds that did not involve dissection or surgery (and I could tell how those stimulated him by his gleaming eyes), I studied his unblemished hands and willed myself not to flinch against the icy touches of death dancing across my skin, chilling even the blood that coursed in my veins, freezing my joints that I may not escape were he to steal my heart and flee.

          Although my gaze wandered, to his skeletal fingers and their shortly clipped nails and protruding joints, to the waxy back of his hand, his tanned but lusterless skin, seemingly translucent like tracing paper, stretched thin over the constellation of bluish-green veins prominent like humps along the road—or more accurately, hills forming valleys that I had a bird’s eye view of—I found my eyes always travelling back to the DEATH tattooed on his fingers, wondering…why? Surely for intimidation actions spoke louder than words?

          This time, the pungent scent of disinfectant and a metallic tang of blood overpowered the usual smells of books and coffee, though I’m certain it is blood and disinfectant that are his distinctive smells. For hands that have been recurrently immersed in blood (through a result of deliberate involvement or otherwise), could that scent ever be cleansed even after painstaking scrubbing till the flesh was made raw and dry?

          The Captain, generally reticent about his personal affairs, frequently socialized in the private confines of his room, the infirmary, or the library, with himself. This greatly hindered my investigation, for I was unable to constrict or contort myself to hide in order to continue my observation. But imagine my astonishment, followed by irrepressible delight, when I discovered he kept a secret pet in his bedroom. However, the Captain was not the only one with his fair share of secrets. I had never told a single person in the crew about an ability I had developed in my childhood, to communicate with animals. And the turtle he parented in his room had rather intriguing details to share, which I will describe below.

          When the Captain’s hands weren’t splattered with blood, they were embedded in flocculent matter, ranging from fluffy bathrobes to his fluffy spotted hat, fluffy socks, fluffy bunny slippers, thick wool coats, fluffy cushions, and the like. I’m disinclined to speculate, but I would have reckoned this peculiarity to be a fetish for flocculence. I have to admit, I was a little disturbed by that thought, for I did not like the idea that it was this obsession that prompted his recruitment of his Mink navigator, who has the finest, most immaculate fur, unrivaled to date.

          Speaking of the Mink navigator, Bepo, apparently the Captain has an inveterate fastidiousness with regards to the maintenance of Bepo’s fur, that they have scheduled sessions three times a week without fail, dedicated to grooming Bepo’s fur back to excellence. It astounds me and, initially disbelieving, I had to snoop on multiple of such sessions to confirm it firsthand. I have never seen anything quite so fascinating, especially of their mutual devotion, between a human and a Mink (another topic I ought to touch on in a separate article, for I discovered myself avid for further investigation—it relieves boredom, can you tell?). Matter of fact, if only the Captain put a fraction of that effort into his personal grooming, perhaps his hair would regain some life to its dull, disheveled state that he need not always hide it under a hat.

          Besides his regular operations, during some of which I have personally assisted, the Captain’s hands always remained firm, his demeanor unfalteringly calm and his concentration unwavering, despite any circumstances or commotions in the background. His hands worked with skilled precision and dexterity perfected undoubtedly over years of diligence. Thus, while I could see no reason why his turtle would lie, I was dubious about the information presented, that when alone, the Captain’s hands would tremble on occasion. It seemed uncharacteristic of someone who appeared stoical in the face of adversities. Nonetheless, I suppose everyone wears different masks in the presence of different company. For instance, I have never seen the Captain clasp his hands in prayer, though it’s reasonable for such a gesture to be done in private.

          After weeks of persistent observation, while I could conclude that I might have a slightly better understanding of the Captain, I’m no closer to finding answers to the questions surrounding his DEATH tattoos. Was it a yin and yang thing? Was it to symbolize the balance of two opposing forces, the darkness and the light, the positives and the negatives, both co-existing within him, being interconnected to complete a whole? Perhaps I was wrong about my initial impression. Perhaps there was nothing bizarre about the Captain associating his name with both ‘hearts’ and ‘death’. Death would be promised to enemies who dared cross him. The hearts could represent the familial love he had for his turtle and his navigator, and perhaps also his crew.

          Hands that spelled DEATH were an ominous sign to notice on a surgeon. It was unmistakably a warning that one ought to seek help elsewhere. And yet, those hands could not only be judged by their outward appearance. Were the tattoos intentionally inked to paint a heinous picture? However, it did not require the status of a saint in order for one’s hands to be capable of acts of beneficence.

//////Other information I was lazy to add above:

His hands are slightly coarse and dry and are extremely valuable to him. He doesn’t moisturize them but he does take care of his hands otherwise. Contrary to the DEATH tattoos, seemingly intimidating, his touch can be gentle and he is much aware of his strength and is able to control it. His nails are cut short so he doesn’t pick at them and they’re easier to keep clean. Although his hands promise death, they have also given medical assistance, mostly (in his opinion), to keep his skills from getting rusty.

Regarding the reason for the DEATH tattoos, I wrote it in an ask answer before, but to summarize, it’s a reminder to himself, his personal memento mori, if you will. It’s not meant to be completely pessimistic. It’s not just a reminder that death is always lurking around the corner. It’s also a reminder to live, while he can. Live, make the most of his life. Live, and fight. Although, the tattoos were originally decided on in an act of resentment and also anger directed at himself. But as he matured, he found a different meaning in those tattoos, one that lent strength, reminded him of the things he’d survived.

Other things he does with his hands: He cares for his turtle, bathes and hand-feeds it; occasionally plays with it (not like that!). Besides wielding his sword and, naturally, using his hands in fights to incapacitate, he reads and writes, rarely prays but still does, the usual daily routines of feeding and washing himself, flipping the finger at people he dislikes. He gives firm handshakes, sometimes crushing on purpose. He’s unlikely to clap unless in sarcasm. He cleans and maintains, sharpens his sword on his own (not that sword! the actual sword, the one he’s overcompensating for). He cares for and washes his hat. Enjoys studying others’ hearts in his hand.