Everyone who interacts with any of my posts who has a rottmnt pfp, I'm following.
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Everyone who interacts with any of my posts who has a rottmnt pfp, I'm following.
Average interaction between the disaster twins
Leo walks into Donnie's lab.
Leo: "What's up D?"
Donnie: "Leo, get out, this is the eighth time you've been in here today without a reason!"
Something was mentioned about Mikey having low blood sugar?
Correct! Good observation!
In Sweatercrack, Michelangelo has low blood sugar. This came from one line in a scene in an episode of season one where the four were going through the maze. Mikey said something along the lines of "I can feel my blood suggies getting low." Hinting he could possibly have low blood sugar.
Leo treats the cracks in his plastron the same way he treats his fears: with a smile, a joke, and a whole lot of denial. He doesn’t like to let anyone see how much it weighs on him. Outwardly, he plays the role of the confident, quick-witted leader, acting like the cracks are “no big deal”—just another weird mutation quirk. Inside, though, every pulse of light from his chest feels like a countdown he can’t control.
what should my next post be?
My Rottmnt au angst
my Rottmnt au fluff
my Sans au angst
my Sans au fluff
I really wanna do rottmnt angst
To Sweatercrack Donnie:
1. Can I help fix your cracks?
2. Can I hug you?
3. Can I kiss you?
Do you have an oc for ROTTMNT?
Nadina Hamato, second youngest, only girl, Hawksbill Sea turtle. Feel free to ask about her!
Raph’s crack runs jagged across his plastron, right through the thickest part, almost mocking his size and strength. He’s a snapping turtle, built for durability, but the crack reminds him every day that he’s not invincible—that he was made broken. His sweater is a muted, softer red, thick and reinforced so his spikes don’t tear it. The sleeves are snug, but the back is open to accommodate his jagged shell, stitched with loops that tie at the edges to keep it in place.
Unlike Leo, who hides with humor, Raph carries his pain in silence. The sweater feels less like protection and more like a shackle—every time he pulls it on, it’s a reminder that he has to contain himself. He worries constantly about his brothers, that one stray hit could split their cracks open, so he positions himself as their shield, standing in front, taking blows meant for them. He’ll gladly risk his own sweater tearing if it means theirs stay intact.
When it comes to the cracks, Raph doesn’t try to cover his with little inventions like Donnie. He doesn’t trust fixes. He trusts his fists, his body, his role as the tank. But inside, he’s terrified: what if someone lands a hit just right? What if he fails to protect the others and has to watch their hearts bleed out in front of him? He rarely admits it, but the thought keeps him up some nights.
To his brothers, he acts like it doesn’t bother him, brushing it off with gruff jokes, but the truth is—his crack is a constant reminder of how breakable they all are. It makes him cling harder, hug tighter, and fight more viciously when anyone threatens them. His sweater isn’t comfort. It’s armor.