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oleander-nin · 5 months

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Human Heater(Rottmnt x Reader Drabbles)

A/N, not important: All credit goes to @buggy-cj for the idea, I just wanted to write it because it's so cute! I'm also ignoring this was posted back in May. I started it, just never finished it. Sorry for skipping last weeks fic, I wasn't doing too hot. Hopefully I'm good to go now. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: None that I know of. If you see any, please tell me

Words: 2466

Summary: You're warm, and the Rise boys want to take advantage of it.

Mikey:

The movie droned on in the background, neither you nor your terrapin boyfriend paying much attention. Your focus is instead on him and the way his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close and keeping you against him. It was nice, being this glued to your boyfriend. His constant clinginess wasn’t a bother to you, even if he got too intense. He was always good at respecting your boundaries, backing off the moment you asked.

You feel him nuzzle his beak further into the back of your head, his eyes peering just over your hair so he could still see the movie if he so wanted. The action movie was the only thing illuminating you both in the moment, a soft light on your faces. Your eyes drift to the screen, watching Mikey’s father laugh loudly before starting to take on the twenty stunt doubles he was acting with.

“I still can’t believe that was your dad.” You grumble, taking another handful of popcorn. You look up to him, craning your neck so you can meet Mikey’s striking eyes. Mikey laughs at your puffed cheeks full of popcorn, his chest vibrating against your back. One of his arms snakes up to your head, lightly running his two forefingers through your hair as he presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Well you best believe it! My dad was the greatest ninja and actor the world’s ever seen!” His proud proclamation is punctuated with another kiss, his position shifting to be on top of you so he could use you as a pillow. He settles down with his chin on your chest, his arms wrapped around your torso lovingly.

“I think you’ve surpassed the greatest ninja thing by now, love.” You say with a grin, cupping his cheeks and pulling his face closer. Mikey melts in your hands, his expressive eyes letting you see every bit of love he holds for you. Mikey shakes his head, moving his face into one of your palms and kissing it softly.

“Considering he beats our tails every other week, I’d think he still holds the title.” Mikey chuckles. You roll your eyes and scoff, rubbing his cheeks as the movie plays in the background. Silence washes over the both of you as Mikey settles back down, his head turned towards the open laptop Mikey had balanced on a chair with some books. As you both watch the movie, you can feel your lower stomach tighten in discomfort, your eyes dropping accusingly to the half-empty bottle of soda set to your right. You lightly pat Mikey’s cheek, his eyes drifting to you with a questioning look.

“Can you let me up? I have to go to the restroom.” You say softly, propping yourself up on your elbows. Mikey juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, his pupils dilating while his chin is stuck firmly to your chest and his arms tightening on your torso.

“Can you wait for the movie to end?” He whines, burying his face into you. You snort, patting his head to try and get him to move.

“Sorry Mikey, I have to go. I’ll be right back though, I promise.” You lightly push at his head, making him blow against your shirt while he starts to stir.

“You’re so warm though, and I’m comfortable.” His complaints are theatrical, his head lolling to the side like you were sentencing him to the gallows instead of simply asking him to move. Despite his protests, he lets out an exaggerated groan and slowly rolls off you to let you up. You shift off the bed and scurry off, wanting to be able to crawl back into Mikey’s arms as quickly as you could.

Donnie:

The quiet clacking of the keyboard reverberated around the lab, adding a quiet percussion to soothe your thoughts. The warmer air of the lair was nice on your skin, a comforting feeling stripped away once you entered Donnie’s lab. It was always kept colder due to the sensitive equipment Donnie had acquired(stolen) over the years, but now that winter was here, the colder air seemed like you had just stepped back outside. You pull your jacket closer over your shoulders, debating zipping it up as you follow the sound Donnie was creating on his keyboard.

The sight of him curled up in his chair with his knees to his chest made you laugh soundlessly, his eyes focused and drawn eyebrows furrowed while he stares his computer down. Moving closer, you see he wasn’t working. A game is on his screen, the loud clacking of his keys coming from his violent spam of buttons as he fights the characters attempting to attack him with their pixelated weapons. You pull another chair up next to him, curling into yours in the same manner he had his own. His wayward glances showed you he knew you were there, but you both bask in the silence of each other. You wanted to lay your head on his shoulder as he plays, to get a small amount of heat transfer to your freezing cheeks, but you hold back.

His game seemed to be in his peak, a larger character coming onto the screen and making it virtually shake. If you laid on him now, his arm would be stunted, and he would most likely lose. You sulk as you sink further into your chair. Cuddles and warmth would have to wait. His screen flashes a few times as the game goes on, his character pulling out different weapons and healing items as the larger boss attempts to pummel him into the ground. You try not to laugh as Donnie starts to get frustrated with his game, his concentration breaking as he sits up more to heighten his button smashing. The screen flashes an end title, the mocking “GAME OVER” making Donnie grumble under his breath.

“My fingers were frozen.” Donnie mumbles out a defense, not meeting your eyes. You look at him, a bit confused at the random statement. His fingers didn’t look frozen, they were still intact and a bright green.

“What do you mean?” Your query gets Donnie to clear his throat, his cold hands cupping your slightly warmer ones. You shiver from the contact, a movement not gone unnoticed by the purple banded turtle.

“I lost because my hands are numb, dramatic sigh.” His voice gives off an over exaggerated flair of devastation, something that makes you start to laugh. He rolls his eyes at your chuckles, a disgruntled “scoff” accompanying his previous theatrics. “Laugh all you want, but I still lost.”

“Then turn the heat up.” You tease, rubbing his hands to try and warm them up more. Donnie shakes his head, his shoulders drooping.

“You know I can’t. I have a lot of sensitive equipment in here.” You smile softly at his defeated look, patting one of his hands in light sympathy. He sinks back into his chair, glaring at the still flashing end card. Amidst the clear annoyance on his face, he seems to perk up, an idea running through the cogs in his brain. Without saying a word, he leans over to your chair and scoops you into his arms, quickly depositing you into his lap before you can protest.

“Sit sideways,” He says quickly, his knees coming up and sliding you down into the divot of his waist. You fumble around a bit, doing as he says. You could feel his heart beating when you lean into him, his warm breath ghosting your neck while you both shift into a more comfortable position. He kisses his forehead, smiling softly.

“You could have used a blanket.” You mumble, clearly enjoying it despite your words as he starts his game back up to try again. Donnie shrugs, a smug grin settling on his features.

“You’re warmer.”

Raph:

The cushions of the beanbag are more comfortable than expected. When Raph first suggested laying in the living room on them, you were skeptical. With their dingy look, you doubted they would be a good place to sit, but they worked fine for what they were needed for. A small smile comes to your face as Raph buries himself farther into his own bean bag, his posture more relaxed than it had been all week. His eyes are lighter as he stares at the movie catalog, one arm absentmindedly patting around for the remote..

“Are you ready to watch the movie?” Raph asks, his hand finally finding the remote and starting to flick through the movies. You absentmindedly confirm his question, getting up as the microwave beeps to signal the popcorn being done. You can hear the clicking from the TV as Raph scrolls through the selections, his bean bag sometimes crying out in protest as he shifts. Returning with a large bowl of popcorn in your arms, you bypass your own bean bag. Raph notices, his gaze shifting so he could follow your movements with a curious eye.

You carefully sit down on Raph’s bean bag, making sure to be on the edge so you didn’t accidentally invade his personal space, as well as make sure he had the option to send you back to your own seat if he wanted. After a few moments of Raph staring at you, he shrugs and settles into his seat more, scooting over to make sure you have room. You smile, leaning into him and resting your head on his plastron. Raph jumps slightly, his eyes going wide as he looks down at you, a large cocky grin adorning your face.

“What are you- Oh… Oh you’re warm.” Raph reaches his arm around to scoot you closer, pressing you firmly against his chest. You situate yourself into a better position, letting your head loll over onto him. He snuggles into you as well, melting against you.

“Are you comfortable?" Raph asks softly, holding you close as he picks up the remote again to continue the movie night. You nod, grinning. The hardness of his plastron was surprisingly nice to rest on, although it might just be because of how tired you were. Keeping your head nestled just underneath the point seemed heavenly in the moment, although you wouldn't have complained even if it was a bit too hard. His brothers were finally out and you both had the lair to yourself for a movie night.

"Is that the movie you wanted?" You ask, watching curiously as the selection highlights a movie different to the ones Raph had been raving about wanting to see for the past week. Raph glances away from you, his arm pulling you closer.

"Raph thought you might prefer this one more."

"Raphael, put on the movie you wanted or I'm going back to my own bean bag."

Raph huffs at the playful threat, pushing you almost fully onto his chest in retaliation. A laugh bubbles from you as his face morphs into a light frown. Despite his newly fortified way of holding you, he still bypasses the movies he was hovering over before finding the ones he had been excited for, a wide from now on his face. As the opening sequence of the movie plays, Raph leans down to kiss the top of your head with a quiet "thank you". You pat his stomach twice, too entranced with the movie to respond.

Leo:

“You’re really warm.” Leo mumbles into your skin, his face pressed firm in your chest. His hold was still strong, not giving you much room for movement. You roll your eyes, rubbing your boyfriend's head softly and raking your nails over the soft scales.

“So I’ve been told.” You muse, a soft grin etched into your tired face. Leo mentioned it every time he corralled you into a cuddle session, weighing you down as he lays on you for hours. You didn’t mind, of course. Any time spent with your boyfriend was time well spent. At least, until you had somewhere to be. You didn’t have to leave for classes for another hour, but it would be better if you got up now to get ready. You were fighting to gain the will to push him away, liking watching Leo sink into you while his fingers drummed where they held you. His weight was comforting, keeping your body from really waking up as your eyes fight to close. It was a trap you really needed to fight out of soon.

“Leo,” You murmur, cupping his face at the cheeks. It was better to try and weasel away from him now, especially if you want enough time to go about your schedule. His eyes drift over to yours, a lazy smile on the terrapins face. “I really have to get up. I need to get ready.”

Leo’s smile morphs into an exaggerated pout, his arms quickly looping around your midsection as he squeezes you close. “But I’m cold.” He whines, trapping you under his body. “And you’re so warm. Can’t you stay a bit longer?”

You sigh, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. The young slider melts into you as his face disappears into your stomach, causing you to realize he really wasn’t letting go. You chew on the inside of your cheek. While you very well could demand him get off(and you knew he would listen, if begrudgingly), you weren’t sure you really wanted to. You continue to rub his head for a moment more, speaking up again in hopes he’d give up so you wouldn’t have to be firm. It wasn’t like you really wanted to get up either.

“Leo, please? I just need to go take a shower.” You pull his face up so he has to look at you, his eyes playful and light. He sticks his tongue out at you before rolling up, crushing you under his weight as you groan in defeat.

“All I’m hearing is that you want me to freeze.” His voice is muffled from being buried into your skin. His words vibrate against you and force you to stifle a laugh, your sides spasming from the accidental tickle. Leo picks his head up to look at you, a bright grin on his face. “However, if you really want to leave, I could be persuaded with a kiss.”

You laugh and lean in to meet his lips, kissing him softly to pay your toll of leaving. Leo lets his head fall into your stomach for a moment more before slipping off your stomach to curl into your side, letting you take a full breath now that his weight was off his chest. Finally free, you slip out of bed, tossing the blankets you left onto Leo and make your way out of the room to start your day.

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sophaeros · 3 months

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interview #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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faith-forgxtten-land · 3 months

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Hihihi!

I'm not sure if your requests are open, but the fic I just read was a request and was posted within the last 24 hrs, so I'm gonna take the chance that they are (can you tell I'm autistic yet?😂)

Could I request a slightly nsfw (just a lil spicy) Bay!Raph fic where the Fem! Reader is watching him workout and offhandedly mentions that she wishes she could lift as much as he does?

Her question prompts him to let her lay on the bench and "lift" the weights (obviously he's carrying almost all of the weight). Just a corny little piece that shows our Big Red some love.

Thank you for your time!💜

Spotting | Raphael

requests are open dw!! honestly feel free to send as many requests as you want at any time, if they're not open you'll know because i'll plaster it somewhere obvious. and corny pieces are the best kind <3

since its valentine's day, i kind of went extra corny with a vague valentine's plot... i hope you like it and lemme know what you think! it's only slightly spicy and suggestive because tbh i wasn't sure how far to go.

warnings: suggestive, slight choking? (oops) valentine's day mentions, single people try not cry too much. everyone is 18+!! never proofread

summary: it's valentine's day and for some reason you have nothing better to do than watch raphael lift weights

word count: 1195

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Why are you lifting weights on Valentine’s Day?”

“Why are you watching me lift weights on Valentine’s Day?” Raphael retorts quickly and it’s such a good question that you pause.

Well, then. You sniff in mock indignance. “I’ll have you know that I was asked out by 12.5 different people ahead of today, thank you very much.”

You can’t see it, but you can tell he’s smirking. “12.5?”

“I figure Mikey only counts for 0.5 since I’m pretty sure he’d ask every woman he sees if he could.”

Raph snorts and your mouth pulls into a stupidly wide smile knowing you’ve amused him. He’s so relaxed like this, when it’s just the two of you, and your smile turns soft at the thought. There’s no one you’d rather spend the day with – Valentine’s Day or not – and the view isn’t bad either.

Speaking of... you tilt your head. Rivulets of sweat trickle down his green skin and you bite your lip watching the flexing of his muscles. He’s so much bigger than you, you’re pretty sure his bicep is bigger than your head, and he could cover your entire face with his palm – he’d done it just yesterday when you wouldn’t stop pestering him about a romcom you wanted to watch (it’s okay, you knew they were secretly his favourite kind of movie too, he didn’t have to protest so much – even grown turtles should be allowed to indulge in some Richard Gere and Julia Roberts).

His size had intimidated you at first, had made you hesitant, but now it makes your knees weak and makes your heart accelerate with something entirely different to fear. It’s quiet apart from his breathing and the clang of his weights and you wonder if he can hear the thundering of your pulse.

“You’re staring.”

“Hmm?”

His muscles flex again and you’re quick to press your thighs together. You’re certain it's deliberate at this point. “You’re staring,” he repeats, his voice a little deeper.

You flush as you realise what he’s saying. “Not my fault you can bench press a truck,” you grumble to hide your embarrassment. “I’m jealous.”

The terrapin smirks again and sits up, his eyes bright. “C’mere.”

“Ex-squeeze me?”

It’s Raph’s turn to grumble. “You’ve been hanging around Mikey too much.”

You grin because it's true and walk slowly towards where he’s waiting. Your feet are clearly more sensible and less fuzzy than your brain (you are definitely not still thinking – and staring – at his arms, nope) because they stop just before you can stand between his legs. His eyes run along the curves of your calves and his gaze feels like a dizzying caress as it glides up your torso, lingering on the bare skin around your throat in a hungry way that makes you swallow just to watch him watch the movement. “What’s the plan, Red?”

Your voice doesn’t feel like your own and you’re kind of impressed by how put-together you sound. It’s not the breathless wheeze you expected, it's low and sultry and suggestive and your eyes flutter as his breath hitches. The two of you have flirted before but this feels different. It’s intimate beyond your typical friendly banter and you have the urge to touch him.

He reaches for you first, pulling you closer and resting his hands on your hips. His hands are huge, and your mouth feels dry as he squeezes a little too hard to be innocent. “Raph...”

He squeezes again at your murmur. “Lie down.” His voice is rough and you shiver. He brushes his fingers across the goosebumps he’s raised, and you let him manoeuvre you with ease.

It probably looks so silly, and you fight the incredulous laughter that bubbles in your chest. The bar above you is ridiculously oversized and heavy and the thought of you lifting it is absurd and your laugh can’t be stopped this time as you look at the green-skinned ninja above you. His lips are twitching as you cackle and your eyes focus on the scar that decorates them, longing to soothe your tongue over it, as you regain your composure. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you reassure him. He’s so fucking cute, you think. You can see his nervousness now even if he tries to play it off and you feel like you’ve just swallowed a bucketful of butterflies. “Are you spotting?”

Raph runs his tongue – you do not shift your hips at how thick it is – across his upper lip, over that scar you want to taste for yourself. He looks torn for a moment, building himself up, and places his heavy hands on the bar above you. “Something like that,” he agrees before instructing you on how to position your hands.

You push up and immediately swear at the impossible weight. Raph snickers and you pout and glare simultaneously. “Don’t be mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean, baby.”

Oh. Your glare falters. That’s just not fair and he knows it. He’s grinning now and you curse him in your head. You push again and this time the bar lifts, as light as a feather. His hands are still wrapped around it and you’re not lifting a single thing, but the moment feels heavy. He hasn’t let his eyes drift from yours and you don’t dare look away. It feels intense and intimate and you can admit that your skin is on fire and your pulse is throbbing knowing how easily he’s carrying a weight that you couldn’t budge with all your might.

He guides the bar back down after a moment that could have been seconds or minutes or hours and you release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He’s still looking at you as you sit up and he invades your personal space. You have to tilt your head back to maintain eye-contact and you shudder as his palm cups your chin.

He’s so tall and imposing and you have to bite your tongue as his hand trails further down. You let him wrap his fingers around your neck and you rest your hand on top of his in encouragement, unable to stop a needy whine as he heeds your silent request and squeezes gently. His pupils are blown and he’s breathing harder than he had been while working out and you feel smug knowing you’ve caused this reaction. In a blink he’s pushed you back and he’s leaning over you. He smells like sweat and his skin is damp from exertion and it's kind of gross and it really shouldn’t be turning you on, but it is and your legs spread involuntarily.

You expect him to close the gap between your lips as he hovers above you and your eyes that had fluttered shut open again when it’s clear he has no intention of moulding your mouths together. He’s got a soft look in his eyes paired with a devilish smile and it makes your chest burn. You don’t expect the next words out of his mouth.

“Be my Valentine?”

You splutter and he laughs as he finally presses his lips to yours.

#tmnt raphael #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #bayverse raphael #tmnt #tmnt x reader #bayverse raph #tmnt imagine #i never know how to feel about my own writing

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terrapin-might · 23 days

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Crane Wives needs TO STOP making bangers bro, if I get one more animatic stuck in my head that I'm not gonna make/finish I'm changing my name to Leo and throwing myself out the window!!!

#the way their songs fit tmnt so well can't be a coincidence they're doing this on purpose I swear #i wanna make the animatics so badly guys you just don't know #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #terrapin posting

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yourlocaltiredartist · 3 months

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Introducinggggg TMNT: Broken Bonds!! here’s the turtles refs:

there’s already some lore for this, so feel free to send me asks!!

more info under the cut :)

species! leo is a diamondback terrapin, raph is an eastern box turtle, donnie is a leucistic sea turtle, and mikey is a radiated tortoise

april is their childhood friend! i’ll post a ref for her and splinter soon :) oh and splinter is a raccoon

donnie doesn’t have a techbo, but he uses tech and chem in other ways while fighting! especially because being a sea turtle makes him the weakest fighter of the four

raph makes a lot of their clothes

they eventually all unlock magic

the hidden city is a thing! although i still don’t have a name for this version-

splinter and his past friends already have lore, but that would be spoilers :)

#didn’t bother shading bc y’know. these are just refs #tmnt #tmnt original iteration #gotta make a tag for this #tmnt: broken bonds #there we go #tmnt fanart #tmnt au #technically??#digital art #illustration #art #digital illustration

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tervaneula · 7 months

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Ohmigosh... IT'S TURTLE TERV...!!! Or Tev, for short, because I cannot for the life of me come up with fresh nicknames based on my url lmao. I've been working on this so slow because of my hand and then I got a fever but finally I can post this<3

Tev owes her life to @spacemimz who so insanely kindly wanted to make a turtlesona for me ;_; ilu Mike there are still no words to describe how much this means to me!!!!!

AND YES she is based on a diamondback terrapin!!! An absolute galaxy brain choice from Mike, I was veering towards darker coloured turtles but they didn't really feel like me and then bam, problem solved, just like that

Ramblings about design changes and stuff under the cut:

The biggest changes I did to Mike's original design (I got granted free rein with it which, AWESOME SAUCE because initially I was dead set on designing the sona from scratch) are no hair because the absolutely adorable ref had my hairstyle and it was so cute but I just can't for the life of me to get it look right ahhgdhs but hey maybe... sometimes, she will wear wigs... I also simplified the shell pattern, made the hands and feet opaque for clarity and gave her slightly different clothes (which are subject to change because I'm goofy like that).

GHHH I. I LOVE THE CLAWS AND THE BIGGER HANDS AND FOREARMS those I absolutely wanted to keep and it's also funny because I have tiny EU size 7 hands but this sona is the complete opposite. It honestly just makes me happy!!

And because I'm extra, I have now two different ways to draw her markings lol. I like the spray airbrush and the hand-saving gradient it gives but I know for certain that I won't be patient enough to always use it so the silly kinda-chibi "Gosh darn it dropped my glasses I hope no one saw" pic has all the spots hand drawn. It works well for smaller scale pics and is also cute so win-win >:3

Anywayyyy I'm in love with her and I could ramble forever so I'm just gonna hit post now ahahaghsdf

#tevvie #using tevvie as a tag for her because it's cutesy and if there are small children around they probably call her that #or wait maybe... aunt tev... ough AUNT TEV.....#aunt tev #well she can have two tags as a treat #turtlesona #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #tmnt fanart #rottmnt fanart #tervdraws #it's terv #diamondback terrapin #why not lol

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penpenpencil · 8 months

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They think they are so cool (they are. They very much are.)

[Versions: 87, 03, 12, 18/Rise (all post-show/movie end)]

Alt version and info-dumping:

If you notice that they look different (Rise!Leo’s arm, 12!Leo’s scars, 87!Leo’s patterns, etc) that’s because those are my post-movie/show designs for them :p

For the 87 turtles, I made them into Yellow-belly sliders bc I could. (03 turtles are Diamond-back Terrapins, 12 turtles are box turtles)

Also from now on I’m going to use different nicknames for them all so you know which version I’m talking about. [87-Lee/El : 03-Leo : 12-Leah/Nora : 18-Leon/Blue]

#penpen draws stuff #tmnt crossover au #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 03 #tmnt 2012 #post movie rottmnt #tmnt leonardo #rise leo

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ofowlsdinosaursanddragons · 20 days

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I made a reference of Kieran for the "Power Always Comes At a Price" au!

Here's the major story for the AU

After being beat by Florian/Juliana In the champion's league, he decides that if his pokemon couldn't get stronger, then he will. After scouring the library for any information on humans getting stronger, he finds out about a tale of a human who became a pokemon hybrid inside the crater of area zero alongside both the tale of Pecharunt and the Terapagos of Area Zero. After going back to his home town of kitikami and capturing Pecharunt with his masterball instead of terapagos, He is sent alongside Carmine and Florian/Juliana to a trip to area zero by Briar to find the "Greatest Treasure of Area Zero" (Terapgos) and asks the protagonist if he could borrow ogerpon while they’re down in area zero. The protagonist obliges and gives him the ogre. As they ascend further into area zero, Kieran finds lost Pokémon fuse tech amongst the rubble from when sada was still working in area zero (she’s alive in this au but her fate is a whole other story on it’s own.) When they reach the bottom of area zero, Kieran grabs Terapagos and turns on the machine with both pecharunt and ogerpon also inside the machine. When the process is complete, a great ball of light shines before dissipating away reavealing the machine, now burnt and useless, and in the center of it all lies Kieran no longer human or Pokémon anymore.

post fusion, he got really screwed up after the transformation. With his head and face being the only reminder of what Kieran once was pre-chimerization. As while the three legendries were gone physically, Kieran soon realized that they began to hear the voices in his head, these voices being terapagos, ogerpon, and pecharunt. As Kieran, at first, was unable to quell the ogre and the peach's arguing alongside the cries of the divine terrapin. Quickly, this drove Kieran "feral". After Florian/Juliana and Carmine were able to defeat the crazed Kieran; He was able to regain most control of his new body afterwards.

For inspirations for the design, I based the body on the Kothoga from The Relic and the Scorpius rex from Camp Cretaceous alongside the barbs of the tripe strike from the HTTYD tv show for the toxic chain barbs that sprout from Kieran's waist (if you wanted to know what those were.)

here are the shade-less alts and the tranpsarents with shade and shadeless alts.

#my artwork #pokemon #pokemon scarlet #“Power always comes at a price”#rival kieran #ogerpon #pecharunt #terapagos #tw body horror #as if something like turning into an amalgam of three legendries doesn't scream it enough already #kaijumorpha au

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normal-internet-user · 1 year

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BARRIER PT: 5

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Pt: 4 <-- --> Pt: 1

Summary: Leo is begining to grow increasingly suspicous of Raph's whereabouts every Friday night, so unknown to his red clad brother, he it's high time they met Raphs secret friend...

Warnings: swearing.

Requested: N/A

GN Reader!

....................................

You clicked absentmindly through the job descriptions on your laptop screen. Clicking on one of the many, 'help wanted' posts on the site, you read through the description, before sending in an application.

This is what you had been doing almost all day, scrolling and scrolling, hoping someone would reach out to schedual an interview.

After your dad had shown up at your previous job, you blocked him everywhere you knew you could, and even changed you phone number, being sure to let Raph know so he could still contact you whenever.

The two of you had grown pretty close since the day he came to your aid, messaging and chatting with eachother often.

He still visited you on the rooftop every Friday night, only now the two of you could talk face to face. It was a nice change.

You phone screen lit up, letting know you had received a message. An unknown number. Your heart dropped.

Was it your dad? Impossible. You had done everything you could to cut him from your life, there was no way in hell he found a way to contact you. It could just be a wrong number situation...

You opened the message with shaky hands, and what you read only made you even more uneasy,

Unknown: "Come to the roof."

What the fuck...?

You closed the message, and called Raph, there was no way in hell you were going up there alone.

"Hello?"

"Dude, you are not gonna believe this-"

You told him about the unknown number and the demand to meet whomever they were on the roof, and you heard him groan on the other end.

"Those idiots, I knew they were up to somethin'. Listen, don't go up there quite yet, I'll meet ya on yer fire-escape. Wait for me, ok?"

"Ok, Red. Whatever you say."

The call ended, and you let out a deep breath. Now just the waiting game...

<Raph's POV>

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Where was everybody?

Sensei was meditating, but the other three were nowhere to found. Which was weird. The Lair was way too quiet, and I debated calling Leo, untill my phone rang.

(Name) was calling.

I picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Dude, you are not going to believe this. Some random number just texted me, telling me to go to the roof."

I was silent for a moment, before my brain put two and two together. Those fuckin' idiots.

"Those idiots, I knew they were up to somethin'. Listen, don't go up there quite yet, I'll meet ya on yer fire-escape. Wait for me, ok?"

"Ok, Red. Whatever you say."

I ended the call, and sighed in frustration. These nosy assholes just couldn't mind their buisness. Probably Leo's idea.

But how in the hell did they find out where (Name) lives? Donnie.

"Shit.." I mutter.

That's why Leo went to Donnie last week. He wanted to know where I've been goin'.

After around 15 minutes, I land on (Name)'s fire-escape, then send 'em a quick text to let 'em know I'm here. They open the window, sending a smile my way.

"I take it you know who's on the roof?" They said, following me up the fire-escape.

I sigh, "Yeah. It's my nosy brothers." I reply, now standing on the hard concrete, "Who can't seem TO MIND THEIR OWN BUISNESS!" I shout, making Mikey fall from his hiding place.

"Ouch! Oh- uh, hey- heeyyy, R-Raph! Wassup bro..?"

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

You watch in surprise as Raphs younger brother falls from his place on the water tower.

The orange masked terrapin, whom you guessed was Mikey, looked guiltily at his brother, a nervous smile on his face.

Raph scowled, "I can see you, Leo."

"Welp-"

Two more turtles landed next to Mikey, albeit on their feet instead. The purple one, Donnie, and 'Fearless', as Raph called him, whom you knew was Leo.

Raph stomped over to his older brother, leaving you to stand awkwardly next to the fire-escape.

"Who do you think you are, huh? Trackin' my friend? What was your thought process there, Leo? Because not only, not only did you invade my privacy, but also theirs. They got enough goin' on without you stalkin' 'em!" Raph roughly shoved his brother backwards, and Leo scowled.

"Well maybe if you learned to communicate, I wouldn't have had to." Leo shoved past Raph, walking over to you, and you felt yourself get nervous.

Leo held an air about him. A calm and respectful one. But one that made you nervous, the way he was looking down at you reminded you a little too much of your dad.

Now don't get me wrong, you knew from Raph that Leo was nothing like your old man. He was serious, but still able to let that go and just be. Something your father could never do. But you couldn't help but connect his gaze to the one your father used whenever you were in trouble.

"Hi..." You said, waving awkwardly, "Uh- you must be Leo..."

Leo nodded, still observing you, "And you must be Raphs friend."

You nodded, smiling nervously, "Uh, yeah, I'm (Name)."

Before Leo could say another word, he was shoved to the side by a very exstatic Mikey, "Wassup, dude/tte? Name's Michelangelo!" He then turned to look at Donnie, "I cannot believe Raph was the first one of us to score a lover."

You felt your cheeks go red, "Oh, no! We're not-"

Raph cleared his throat, "Yeah, uh. We're just friends, Mikey."

You nodded, "Yeah, j-just friends."

Mikey moved his gaze between you and Raph. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Alrighty then. Well, this is Donnie!" He said, introducing his purple clad brother, "And you obviously know Raph."

Raph scoffed, "Obviously. Not like I come to see 'em every Friday night. Matter of fact, I have never met this person in my life."

That caused you to let out a laugh, and Raph mouth twitched up into a smile as the sound pulled from your lips.

Leo moved forward once more, hand out stretched for you to shake, "I apologise for the tracking and stuff. Probably a bit over-kill, I was just worried for my family."

You shook his hand and shook your head, "Nah, I get it. Your brother sneaking out every Friday to meet some stranger you don't know? I'd be worried too. Although, yeah the tracking was kinda over-kill.."

Leo nodded, looking sheepish, but he definitly wasn't as intimidating as before.

You cleared your throat, "So, you guys wanna come in?" you asked, motioning towards the fire-escape, "I can order some pizza."

"Hell yeah, Angelcakes!"

"I wouldn't mind some pizza."

"That would be very kind of you, Mx. (Surname)."

You held up a hand in Donnie's direction, "Oh no, none of that Mx. (Surname) shit. Makes me sound ancient."

With that, you lead the four brothers down into your apartment. Mentally preparing yourself for how crazy fucked up your life was about to be.

....................................

I am so so sorry for the for the long wait, I swear I'm working on this series-

@princessmads1820 @leleouwu @dilucsflame33 @pheradream15 @lazyafgurl @allybutton @muamazon4 @push-lennon-off-stage @turtle-babe83 @i-just-like-to-read @lieutenantlashfaz @m1dnyt3-w0lf @bo0tyshak3r9000 @lovelyladylavie @gremlid-the-second @caramelcandykk @phd-in-fuckery @ellie-crow @maladaptiveromantic

Goodness gracious there are so many people to tag now-

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #raphael x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 x reader #raph x gn reader #tmnt raph x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles bayverse #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse raph #normie writes

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