It was Thanksgiving, and the lair buzzed with a rare kind of excitement as the turtles prepared for the celebration. Each brother had taken the event surprisingly seriously—well, most of them. Raph and Leo were already dressed in their nicest suits, straightening collars and brushing off imaginary lint, while Donnie had adjusted his bowtie three times already, insisting perfection was mandatory for a “properly optimized holiday experience.”

Cassandra, on the other hand, wandered in wearing her usual casual gear. She froze when she saw everyone dressed up. “Wait—this was a fancy thing?” she muttered, staring at their suits like they’d all joined a cult overnight. No one had thought to warn her. Typical.

Casey Jr. stood beside her, even more confused. He glanced around the room with wide eyes. “So… Thanksgiving is like… a feast day you guys used to have? Before everything in my timeline was on fire?” His voice was earnest, curious, and a little sad—but the warmth in the room softened his expression.

April had gone for a clever blend of casual and fancy, a practical but stylish middle ground that fit her perfectly. Sunita mirrored her approach, mixing comfort with flair. Splinter and Draxum, surprisingly united for once, both wore elegant and somewhat dramatic formal wear—Splinter with graceful traditional touches, and Draxum looking like he had personally invented the concept of “regal.”

As for you, you had dressed up more nicely than usual—whether in a suit or dress—wanting your first Thanksgiving with the turtles to be something memorable. Donnie seemed to think so too, because he kept giving you little looks of approval when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You and Donnie worked together at the table. Or rather, you tried to help, and Donnie micromanaged every attempt. Each time you set down a plate or utensil, he would tap your hand aside with a soft smack and murmur a stern but affectionate “No.” His glare was exaggerated, not truly angry, but his need for symmetry and precision was absolutely genuine. You eventually resorted to simply handing items to him like an assistant to a very fussy designer.

In the kitchen, Mikey was in his element, orchestrating the meal like a cheerful culinary conductor. He practically glowed as he showed off his cooking techniques to Splinter and Draxum. Splinter watched with patient enthusiasm, nodding proudly every few minutes. Draxum, meanwhile, scoffed repeatedly—loudly—because according to him, he “already knew how to cook, thank you very much,” and being shown anything by a former child he once terrorized was… humbling, at best. Still, he didn’t leave the kitchen.

April, Sunita, and Cassandra chatted in the other room, Cassandra loudly insisting she could’ve worn something fancy if anyone had bothered to tell her, and April insisting that she looked fine. Shelldon sat plugged into his charger nearby, his LED eyes blinking in a slow rhythm, offering an occasional robotic hum of approval.

Leo, meanwhile, was far too occupied to help with anything. He was off in a corner flirting shamelessly with Usagi, every line cheesier than the last. Usagi pretended to be unimpressed, but the way his ears wiggled every time Leo complimented him told a different story.

Despite the chaos, the mismatched clothes, the bickering over kitchen space, and Donnie’s table-setting tyranny, the lair felt warm—filled with laughter, teasing, and the easy comfort of found family.

Your first Thanksgiving with the turtles was already turning out to be something special.