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Artist | Professional | Film & Animation
Feedback and criticism is most welcome. If you don't like something, by all means say so - but only so long as you explain why. Otherwise I cannot improve.

If you comment on any of my work, I will look through your gallery, unless it contains lewd or inappropriate content.

Plumb purple. Eggs Benedict. Badgers. New Zealand. Snow. Andrew Peterson. Brian Jacques. Joss Whedon. To End All Wars. Doctor Who. John 8:32.

"It's a risky business trying to earnestly search for the meaning of life… because if you actually find it, you'll have to choose either to reject it or else bind yourself to it forever."


        Leonardo paced uneasily, halfway between Donatello’s lab and the door to the swimming pool. Under his strict orders, Michelangelo and Raphael had retreated so as to keep from overwhelming Molly. With no other spectacle to play audience to, they had followed their nerdier brother into his element and were watching him arrange a set of slides by a microscope. “So,” Mikey tested. “She’s gonna be like, a turtle-ette now, or what?”
        “It’s too early to tell,” Donatello replied through a set of clenched teeth. He hooked his laptop up to the microscope and created a feed-screen to enlarge the visual on each sample and display it for his brothers. “This could just be a temporary side-effect, or an incomplete one. We have absolutely no way of knowing.”
        “Dude, whatever,” Raphael scoffed. “I can tell you already know what it is, so spill! You said you had a theory!”
        Donatello let out a tart breath and stopped what he was doing to turn and look head-on at his audience. "This isn't helping me go faster, you know."
        Raphael rolled his eyes. "Just figure it out," Leonardo commanded sharply as he paced. "As quick as you can! Please." His brother flinched and slid the first glass frame under the lens. He adjusted the image on the computer screen until it was clear: bright red, round—
        “Fuzzy tomato bagels?” Michelangelo guessed.
        Donatello rolled his eyes. “Human blood cells,” he growled. He clicked a key to save the image, then switched the slide out of the microscope for another one. These cells were much more ovular, with almost clear outsides with a purple center.
        “Creepy ghost grapes!”
        “Un-mutated turtle cells.” He loaded the last slide, which had a few scattered turtle cells, but mostly bore a swarm of crimson ovals that contained tinted purple nuclei. A mergence between the species. “And these… are ours.”
        “How come some of those look different from each other?”
          “They ain’t all mutated,” Raphael muttered to Mikey. “…I think.”
        “Top of the class,” Donatello admitted, eyeing his red-masked brother with a hint of pride.
          “But why not?”
          “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Donatello explained as his mouth went into rapid-fire mode. “When we first came in contact with the ooze, the cells it touched formed these reddish hybrids. But not all our cells were affected, like you said. So, I’ve had two theories for a while. Since our cells aren’t all identical, at first I thought maybe the mutigen had reached some sort of peak in our bodies, and then just stopped working, and left us with a mixture of altered and unaltered cells. Under this theory — I call it the Limited Mutation Theory, not all of our bodies were mutated to their full potential. In layman’s terms, we’ve only been partially-mutated this whole time!”
        Raphael shifted uneasily and crossed his arms. “Whaddo you mean, partially-mutated? You mean we mighta looked more human than this or somethin’? What sorta messed-up theory is that?”
        “It- it’s a wrong, theory, Raph,” Donatello assured him. “At least, I think it is.” The edges of his mask furrowed in concentration. “Because even though we do have a small number of un-mutated cells left… under that theory, Molly’s cells would be safe from ours. She might have been given mutant blood cells that would multiply in her system, but they would always be blood cells. And only blood cells. Which wouldn’t alter her appearance at all.
        “But if her bodily homeostasis is being affected — not just affected, changed — by this transfusion, that means that the mutigen in our bodies is still active.” Donatello shook his head in amazement and glanced at his brothers, hoping they understood the incredible medical marvel he had revealed. “After all these years. It’s still passing between the cells in our bodies, and genetically re-writing them to keep us the way we are.”
        “Whoa,” Mikey sighed — though it looked as if he hadn’t been able to process half of the lecture.
        Leonardo gave the pool door a mournful glance before turning to enter the laboratory completely, clutching his temple. “Wait, wait just a second… if the mutigen warps a cell’s DNA to… I dunno, humanize it, or whatever… then why is Molly turning into… into—”
        “Into a turtle?” Raphael completed for him, almost smug at the fact that his ‘perfect’ brother had caused this catastrophe. Leonardo glared at him, and for a tense moment they were nearly nose-to-nose.
        “I thought of that, too,” Donatello broke in quickly. “Because you’re right — why wouldn’t the mutigen just… enforce her humanity as it is? But then I realized that it wasn’t just ooze inside her: there was also turtle DNA. So somehow, the mutigen must be exchanging or mixing her DNA with ours.
        “And then I had it! The ooze, in its original form, does enter a cell and mutate it to become slightly humanoid. But then it travels to other cells, not as a contaminate substance but as a virus: it implants a copy of the DNA from the first mutated cell into all the others! Only pure, un-diluted ooze actually mutates genes: once it’s active in a living creature, the process is all about genetic transfer, from one cell to the next.
        “That’s why Molly’s genes are slowly being over-written by our own. The active mutigen is spreading turtle DNA through her body like a virus. And since she lost so much blood to bruising and to her bullet-wound, her veins were probably 50% full of mutations before I even finished her surgery!”
        Donatello finally stopped to take a deep breath. Leonardo was staring at his lab results in disbelief, while Raphael and Michelangelo looked increasingly unsure about the meaning of the oration. “Lemme get this straight,” Raph growled. “We tell ya Molly’s turning into a turtle, you do a bunch of sciency crap, and then you come up with a freakin’ Harvard lecture… that basically means, ‘Yep! Science proves she’s turning into a turtle!’ Good ol’ Captain Obvious, what would we do without’cha?”
        “But don’t you see? Now we know it’s because of the mutigen!”
        “Ya think!? We’re mutants, she’s mutating, what’s so hard to connect about those dots? Geez, talk about a waste o’time, I coulda beat my high score on Mario Brothers…”
        “You mean,” Mikey strained withe of a scratch of his head. “Molly’s infected with turtle-ooze?”
        Donatello rubbed his eyes and shook his head in shame, but then shrugged. “Yes. Yes, she is infected with turtle ooze. It magically takes a copy of mutant turtle everywhere it goes, and changes everything it touches into a mutant turtle!”
        Michelangelo’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Far out,” he sighed dreamily… then he sat bolt upright. “Can we find some more animals to mutate!?”
        “No!” his brothers roared back.
Oh, Tilly - Whoa, Tilly by ambassador-brouwer
Oh, Tilly - Whoa, Tilly
Featuring Captain "Doc" Cooper and Mathilda "Tilly" Warren being... well, herself. Also, Max the cat in his shining debut.

Captain Cooper and the tales of the Firefly-Class Jin Dui created by :iconbrowncoatwhit: and featured at

PS: Story based on [partially] true recent events... thankfully the cat didn't actually get badly injured, but it did follow me home after I 'rescued' it from my own dog...
        Molly weighed next to nothing when Donatello finally scooped her up out of the bed: he was gentle, but she still stiffened at the contact. April couldn’t tell whether it was because Don was a scaly reptile, because Molly was in pain, or because she was still traumatized by whatever had happened to her back at the shipyard. There was certainly something lurking in Molly’s eyes that she didn’t like.
        Raphael was the first to spot them emerging from the train car; he had been hunting for sprinkles in the kitchen cabinets and was shaking them over his slice of triple-cheese. “Hey, look: she ain’t dead yet.”
        Casey and Mikey glanced up from the hockey game on TV: it seemed Molly was almost more a freak show than the mutant turtles were at the moment. Michelangelo bounded from his seat in an instant. “Hey, what’cha doin’? Where are you guys going? Can I join?”
        “We’re going to the pool, and no you can’t,” Donatello explained… but he said so kindly. “I’ll be back up here in a minute, too.
        “Raph, did you grab the soap?”
        The gruffest of the brothers shied away slightly. “I thought that was a joke. Whaddo you need soap for?”
        “Molly’s taking a bath—”
        Mikey squeaked.
        “And don’t you,” Donny ordered him quickly. “…say anything on that subject.”
        He was largely ignored; Molly jumped at the tap on her shoulder the youngest of the turtles gave her, anyway. “How about rubber duckies? Do you want a rubber ducky? It’s cool if you don’t. But seriously, I’ve got a bunch of rubber duckies and stuff. So if you want one, you should totally let me know—”
        “Here,” Raphael grunted, fetching a small white bar from a nearby cabinet and handing it off to April as if it was a time bomb. “Use as much as you want.”
        “Geez, Raph, what’s with you and soap?” Casey laughed from where he remained hunched on the couch in front of the hockey game. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were afraid of it!”
        “Psht— that’s stupid, I ain’t afraid o’nothin’.”
        “SSSOAP,” Mikey hissed suddenly in his older brother’s ear— Raphael dropped his plate of pizza to the floor with an involuntary shudder.

- - -

        April inspected most of the pool before agreeing with Donatello that it was slightly cleaner than even some New York bathtubs she’d seen. It took him a few minutes to explain all of the nuances of the faucets to her, since the plumbing that he’d installed to make their underground swims a reality had gotten rather complicated. They sat Molly down in the shallow end and Donny left, making sure to drag Michelangelo away and lock the door behind himself.
        After double-checking the lock (at Molly’s request), April turned on the faucets and let the steaming water run into the deeper sections of the pool. Then she helped to peel Molly’s clothes away, which was a more difficult challenge than she had first expected thanks to three days of blood and sweat and grime. If anything, the redhead looked even worse without the grungy ensemble: her skin (and especially her back) was almost more gray than pink, covered in countless blue bruises from head to toe. She sank gingerly onto her back and April propped her bandaged leg up on a little wooden fruit-crate that Don had left for them.
        The bathwater slowly rose and seeped into the shallow area, pooling around Molly’s mottled body and soaking into her greasy hair. She shut her eyes and sighed in relief as the warmth crept up and enveloped her: April shut the faucets off just before the water level reached the top of the crate.
        “Thanks,” Molly croaked as the news reporter started lathering suds into her skull.
        “Well, don’t thank me just yet,” April muttered. “Regular soap may really mess with your hair.” Then she glanced down at her friend, and tilted her head to one side in curiosity. “Did they break your nose?”
        Molly’s eyes shot open. “What?”
        “I dunno, your nose just looks different. I thought maybe it was just the light back in the train car, but it looks sort of… flatter. I dunno.”
        “Hm,” Molly sighed, hardly caring. “Might not be a bad change. I always felt like that thing was too big… just really pointy.”
        “But I liked it. Really.”
        “You’re sweet,” Molly hummed, and then she sighed. “This feels so nice… I may just sleep here.”

        April thought that the remark was a joke, but long after she finished helping Molly scrub off, there was no sign that said the redhead wanted to return to the train car where her bed was. In fact, her only movement was to shift onto her side whenever lying on her back started to make her nauseous. After hours dragged by (thank goodness she had brought her book to pass the time), April apologetically admitted that she had to get going, as she would be expected for work the next day and had to get some rest. She left her friend as comfortable as possible, with a towel rolled up beneath her head for a pillow (now soaked) and another equally-wet one draped across her body like a blanket, since for emergency’s sake they wouldn’t be able to keep the door locked. Molly didn’t argue much at April’s leaving — and she didn’t even seem to mind that the bathwater had long since grown cool. It still felt good on her bruises, almost dulling the pain like ice might, even though it was nowhere near that cold.
        Donatello stuck his head in a few times to check on her (thank goodness for the towel-blanket), but soon even that stopped and the distant static of the television set went quiet: Molly slept through the night without so much as lifting a finger or rolling over, and only the distant rumbles of passing subway cars dared to break through the emptiness to confirm that she was not dead. It was still quiet when she finally awoke (it had always been dark in that place, so she had no light and only silence to judge the time by), but ‘awake’ was still quite a relative term: she did little but reach up a wrinkled hand to rub her eyes and breathe a little deeper. Her every move let out a faint plink in the bathwater that echoed in the cavernous chamber.
        April had been right; the soap had made her scalp itch horrendously, and her skin felt tight and flaky. Molly scratched her neck and skull absently, still in a half-sleep.

- - -

        Deep within his dojo, Leonardo sat stock-still with his legs crossed and his back straight and his eyes shut. His breath came slowly and deeply, the only sound coming from him, and it was very nearly inaudible. To the untrained eye, it looked like he had fallen asleep while meditating… but in reality, his mind was anything but rested. He had been perched on his mat doing this for almost two days straight: thinking through his mistake with the blood transfusion, ever since it happened. He hadn’t even risen to eat. A few concerned voices had whispered around just outside his room through the hours — he had even recognized Splinter’s raspy murmur — but no one had entered. They all knew that Leonardo wouldn’t emerge until he had thought everything through himself… until he was ready to discuss what was bothering him.
        Even Leonardo was still slightly unsure why he was so deeply unsettled by the medical mix-up. He could hear into the living area and knew that Molly was recovering, but he had still nearly killed her. In his mind, he had killed her — he kept hearing gasps and cries in the distance and imagined himself running to her side a hundred different times, always beholding a different sight. Sometimes she was wasting away from blood loss, sometimes burning with a fever. Sometimes twisting into some horrible human-turtle hybrid that screamed and clawed at him for making such a stupid mistake. Sometimes Leonardo would even leap to his feet and get halfway to the door before realizing that he had dreamt the sound he had just heard, and that the sewer lair was completely silent. Then he would turn around, sit, and try to meditate again… only to have his nightmarish imaginings return.

        Then he heard it: real and actual, a horrified scream the likes of which he hadn’t heard since Molly had first been shot in the leg. In an instant Leonardo had flung open his bedroom door and crossed the living area, while all of his horrific visions flooded back into his memories at once. He burst into the bath-chamber with little regard for what he might have accidentally stumbled upon.
        Molly lay curled in the shallow end of the pool, half-wrapped in a towel and clutching at her head like it might fall off. No… at her hair. Wispy curls of red were floating in the bathwater, and beneath her fingers he could see a few bare patches of freckled skin. But more than that, Molly’s hair wasn’t just falling out: her body was changing, taking on the color of her yellowed bruises more and more as if they were spreading some disease. She had barely even registered the fact that Leonardo had stormed into the room, but he knelt at her side in the blink of an eye anyway.
        “I’m sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth, though he’d meant to try and calm her down, or ask what he could do to help. “I’m so sorry — this is all my fault.”
        She shivered. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from his touch when he tried to place a hand on her shoulder. She was staring ahead into space, looking as empty as they day they’d first brought her in. “You can see it?” she whimpered. “You can see it? It’s not all in my head?”
        The door burst open again and the other three turtles entered, Donatello in the lead brandishing a stethoscope. “What’s happe— oh, cripes.”
        “Is she alright? Was it a nightmare? She’s not hurt, is sh— whoa, dudes. Is everybody else seeing this right now?”
        “Well,” Donny admitted hesitantly. “I think some of us wish we weren’t.”
        “You kidding!? This is awesome!
        “It is not ‘awesome,’ Mike!”
          “Withdrawals,” Molly muttered to herself. “Gotta be the nicotine withdrawals. This can’t actually be happening to me—”
        “Hate to break it to you, Freckles, but it’s happening,” Raphael grunted.
      “I’ll never smoke another cigarette as long as I live,” Molly moaned. Her breathing grew quicker as the four massive reptiles approached and surrounded her, and she suddenly felt very exposed… likely because she was covered by nothing but a thin towel. She knew Donatello was the medical expert of the group, but suddenly she craved the presence of a human being… someone she knew. “C-Casey?” she whimpered. “Where’s Casey?”
        “He don’t sleep down here.”
        “Yeah, he’s a cosmo-phoney.”
        “That’s not important right now,” Leonardo snapped at his brothers. “Donny, what do you make of it?”
        “Well, I’ve got a theory,” his brother muttered. He started fiddling with the bandages on Molly’s leg. “I’ll need to get a blood sample, though—”
        “G-go away,” the girl gasped as they crouched down, each of them coming closer and closer until she was backed up against the side of the pool. “Go away, I— I— I want to get dressed!” she decided.
        “I said GO AWAY,” Molly snarled. She yanked her leg out of Donny’s grasp and pulled it away beneath her wet towel, which felt tinier and flimsier as time went on. She ignored the fact that the damp started to soak into the bandages.
        Raphael crossed his arms and snorted. “Geez. What’s your problem?”
        “Said the turtle who’s never worn clothes before,” Donatello muttered. “Listen, Molly, I just need t—”
        “We’re going,” Leonardo ordered his brothers sharply, and he stood to his feet.
        “Aw, what for?”
        “But it’s vital that I check th—”
        “In a minute. Give her space.”
        Somehow, Leo managed to corral (or drag) his brothers all the way to the door. He paused before shutting it, though… and in that moment when he glanced over his shoulder, he glimpsed Molly rocking herself back and forth, and she caught his eye. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered.
        “I’m not sure,” Leonardo muttered, and he shut the door… but in his mind’s eye, he could still see her sitting there, curled in the cold water… and he had a feeling he knew. The more he had looked at her, the more he had recognized the subtle similarities between her human body and his own: her face had grown flatter, and the gaps between her outer fingers had grown slightly webbed. The marks on her back were especially dark, the shoulder muscles more and more stiff as if they were actually growing hard.
        And it was all his fault.
"Is it too much to ask for someone to make a believable movie about adolescent reptilian martial arts masters mentored by a talking rat?

Perhaps I just answered my own question."

Welp, I went to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles premiere... allow me to explain the nuances of the film in a more thorough, spoiler-free environment:…

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RafoxtheRiolu Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014  New member Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome! ^^
BronzetheSling Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Thanks for inviting me to the WingfeatherSaga group!! I've been wanting to get in for a long time.
SusanBourne042 Featured By Owner May 29, 2014
Happy birthday!  :party: :cake:
ambassador-brouwer Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2014  Professional Filmographer
SELI-book Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2014  Hobbyist Writer

Hi...I really liked the stuff that you posted so I tagged you in…

I hope you don't mind...sorry for wasting your time like this!

ambassador-brouwer Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Professional Filmographer
Not at all - I enjoyed reading it and I'll try to get on it. First time I've been tagged in anything before - please excuse my lateness, I've been out for about a month. Tip My Hat emoticon 
SELI-book Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks- it's fine! :D
Henly-Hill Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Just thought you would like to know my second Firefly poem is out. Oh and a llama for your trouble!
ambassador-brouwer Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2014  Professional Filmographer
Wow, thanks!
Henly-Hill Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My Pleasure.
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