𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙊𝙊𝙏𝙃; ʳᵒᵗᵗᵐⁿᵗ ♡

𝘍𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘐𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴; ♡

𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼 . . .

future!donatello is fighting with the end, trying to find solutions for death when it was never a problem he could fix in the first place. so afraid of reality that he's fighting and searching for a way out and back to normal, whatever he thinks that is beyond what is happening in the present. logic to an extreme. he overthinks himself down to the brink of exhaustion. he didn't even hear you as you entered into the lab, your footsteps didn't register in his mind until you placed your hand on his shoulder. "it's late, donnie. come to bed, please." he's busy, he has stuff to do, he has so much work. but...he's tired. you know it, he knows it. you look at him, and reluctant glimmers plague his eyes so diligently that he cannot help but look away. fine, he'll allow you to drag him off to bed this time. he passes out almost right away. his beak pressing against your neck, his arms holding you close as if you'd slip away from his grasp while he sleeps.

future!donatello is like the loneliness of the night. the remembrance of grievance for the thoughts we do not dare to think unless alone, with quiet guidance of the moonlight until dawn approaches with it's tropes of sunlight and the cycle repeats. it repeats over and over. like his breath, steady, deep, focused. he's brooding right now. staring off to the distance thinking. thinking, thinking, thinking. as always as you sit beside him. smoke hazes his vision as he breaths out, the burning ash of a paper torch in his fingertips. he spaces out, his attention wanders, but it is quick to return when you say something. conversation shortly goes replaced by, one word: shotgunning. inhaling smoke and then exhaling it through your lips. there is a certain sensuality in how he breaks you apart without laying a single finger on you, deigning only to give you smoke in your lungs. his eyes are on you, and you perform brilliantly for him. he knows he doesn't need to rely on physicality to break you apart, grind you down to your weakest point, and then lovingly and so heavenly, build you back up again. smug bastard.