Splinter Appreciation Week is a fan event to celebrate ALL versions of the TMNT franchise and the most beloved rat dad, Splinter. The 2026 event will take place from June 15th to 21st, the week leading up to Father’s Day.
Prompts for Splinter Week 2026 are LIVE! Plaintext below the cut.
For participation guidelines, click here!
For frequently asked questions, click here!
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“Scare it off with your wrench then! You, monster, whatever you are, back off! Get away!”
Getting away would have been Splinter’s highest priority if only these maintenance workers hadn’t strayed into this tunnel. He couldn’t leave without his turtles. His ears flattened at their cries from the nest secreted in the nearest blocked drain—confusion, fear, calls for him to drive off the disturbance, hide us, save us! To his horror the human closest to the wall heard it too, brandishing his drill.
“What’s that noise?”
No time to consider anything else but ducking the frantic swing of a wrench, then a crowbar, diving onto all fours to knock the man off balance and then scurrying toward the drain, scooping the squirming, squealing turtles up to cradle close to his chest.
Their hideaway was a blessing and a curse, sealed off with the promise he and the turtles wouldn’t be washed away in the case of flooding but in the same breath, sealed with the warning that it was a dead end. Now his back was to the wall. The workers crowded with their tools, blocking out light, hope and escape.
He couldn’t risk addressing them aloud, not even to deescalate, negotiate or beg; speaking as the humans did was still so new to him, he might say all the wrong things. All he could do was rely on age-old animal tactics, fur bristling, gnashing his teeth in warning. He had dealt such damage to Oroku Saki’s face before to protect those he loved; he would not hesitate to do it again.
One of the humans hesitated, however, upon noticing the little ones clinging and cooing, burying themselves in Splinter’s fur. He did his best to cover them entirely with his paws so as to not let on exactly what they were.
“It’s got babies,” the man observed—the only classification of them that mattered.
“It’s an infestation! We gotta call pest control!”
“No, wait! It’s…I dunno, it may not be a gremlin or whatever; it could be a weird possum or the biggest, mangiest cat you’ve ever seen tryin’ to protect its…litter?” At the others’ incredulous looks he fidgeted; Splinter couldn’t help but flinch at the loose handling of the drill. “I mean…look. It’s not attacking, s’just freaking out cause we got it cornered. Maybe it was just trying to get back in there to the babies.”
Curling even tighter around them, Splinter let out a lower, more cautious hiss. Someone with common sense against all odds? Dare he hope the others would agree?
“Maybe if we just…back up, leave it alone, it won’t even do anything.”
“Are you serious? We can’t just leave it here to keep breeding!”
“Hey, how many strays are there in New York already? Too many for us to do anything about it. And y’think any sane pest control guy is gonna come running if you call to report gremlins?”
They stood silent for so long, considering their options, that Splinter’s head swam from anticipatorily holding his breath. It wasn’t until he heard the scuff of boots gingerly shuffling back that he could shakily exhale. As could the humans, who eventually seemed to realize he wouldn’t be lunging out at them anytime soon.
“…Okay. Good. Uh…you and yours just go about your business, kitty, and we’ll mind ours. C’mon, guys, give ’em a little room. Not bothering you now, okay?” The man waved his free hand awkwardly. “We were almost done in here anyway.”
Splinter thanked heaven that the men had already turned away before one of the turtles tugged an arm free to wave ingenuously back. Cupping his son’s hand, he kissed his tiny knuckles, his forehead, and then thanked heaven twice for grace and good, kind instincts.
inspired by incredible fic It’s (not) Your Fault by knight and melon on AO3!! Chapter one specifically inspo for this one where Rat King succeeds in taking over Splinter who doesn’t snap out of it in time while fighting his boys 😭😭
THANK YOU FOR PUTTING ON SUCH AN INCREDIBLE WEEK WITH SUCH FANTASTIC PROMPTS!!!! This was such fun!!!!
Okay I lied, I had a burst of inspiration and wrote stuff for Day 5
@tmnt-splinterweek
The absence of youth
~~
His joints ached from the cold damp fall air when he stood from his seat. 'it must be raining outside.'
Shuffling from the room, the stone floor was also cold. Sinking deep into his feet, sapping what little warmth was left in them.
'perhaps I should ask Raphael to knit me some socks for the winter, my old fur does not hold as much heat anymore.'
Inspite of his old age and shuffling gate, his footsteps were as silent as ever. Therefore he went unnoticed by his sons as he passed the living room. Taking a minute to peer in at them. All four were playing a new video game Casey had picked up for them. And loudly too.
Michaelangelo was darting around the room to avoid Raphael, who was shouting about him cheating. Even though he was on the move, his most energetic son was still managing to play the game. And quite well by the looks on Donatello's and Leonardo's faces.
Donatello, never one to sit properly, was perched on the back of the couch and Leonardo was sitting crosslegged upon it. Both had expressions of concentration and appeared to be teaming up to defeat the other two. Raphael did not appear to notice this, too preoccupied with tackling the youngest.
He smiled fondly. And continued on.
He passed the kitchen which still smelled faintly of the pancakes Leonardo had burned the day before. Pictures on the fridge depicted smiling faces. Many were taken without the knowledge of the subjects; April was good at that.
He wonders why he had decided to meditate so far from his own room. Each joint protesting, and body tired from just that short walk.
Pushing aside the curtain across his door frame, Donatello had not finished fixing his door after Leatherhead had accidently broken it after tripping on one of the boys' skateboards, he padded in and sat down in his chair. Intending to read some. He propped his cane up against the side and picked up the novel he was currently reading.
.
.
.
Strong arms lifted him from the chair and placed him in his bed, pulling the covers up. Adding a few more blankets to chase away the chill. His diffuser was refreshed, his book set on the dresser chest, and his cane set beside the bed for easy reach.
Splinter's footsteps, softened by the fur on his paws, echoed gently in the Pavilion of Past Champions. He admired each of the statues as he passed by; creatures he had never seen before, mortal men who were surely a hundred years dead, each winners of this honorable arena that deserved as much respect as another.
The Nexus's strange moonlight streamed in from the smoke vent far above, and braziers stationed in between each of the Champion's statues gave off light and warmth in equal measure. Artifacts and weaponry strewn about the room cast shadows at odd angles, and the flickering braziers set each shadow moving like a spirit. He examined each one with a rat's sharp eye and scented the air cautiously. This place had never been entirely without danger (it was here that he sustained the cursed injury to his leg, after all), but the shadows never felt more dangerous than after the attack on his son. Leonardo healed quickly, with youth and a healthy body on his side, but it was still far too close a call for comfort. His heart ached at the thought of how close he'd been to losing one of his sons.
At the feet of Yoshi's statue, Splinter put down his bundle and bowed deeply. "Master." His voice came out thin, forced past the lump in his throat that might never go away.
There were precious few images of Hamato Yoshi left in existence; Splinter was in possession of only one photograph, small and worn at the edges. This statue, larger than life and still smaller than he had once been to Splinter, was such a startlingly accurate rendering of his beloved master that he could barely stand to look at it. If only Tang Shen was here with her beloved, if only they could stand together in strength and love for eternity.
Splinter carefully knelt with the assistance of his stick and sat in seiza. On the statue's pedestal, he placed a small candle and an orange pilfered from the party honoring Michelangelo. The party was ongoing a few pavilions away, hundreds of people from at least as many dimensions and worlds, all gathering to celebrate his son as they had once celebrated Splinter himself, and Yoshi before them.
To the side of Yoshi, Splinter's own statue stood. He had never returned to see it completed after his last Battle Nexus, he was too preoccupied with the little turtles at his heels and the way they threw themselves into training with renewed vigor at the sight of their sensei wounded. Latent protective instincts had roared to life within each one of them when he came home with a bandaged leg and his walking stick. It seemed all the worse for his refusal to tell them how he'd sustained the injury—everything about his mysterious three-day journey away from home troubled them deeply, and they channeled it into their training.
Seeing it there now, and earlier in the day with his sons, twisted a strange feeling in his chest. Like the air had been punched right from his lungs. Shen may not be there to stand beside her love, but Splinter was there to stand beside his Sensei. Though they were separated in life, in death they would continue to stand strong in the Pavilion. He just had to hope that would be enough.
Michelangelo’s statue would be next in this line of champions. Splinter wondered what pose the boy would choose. Perhaps something cheesy, like that bird pose from that karate movie he loved, or something like the superheroes in his comics. A third-generation Battle Nexus Champion. His brothers were already tired of having it rubbed in their faces, but they knew how much it meant all the same. Whatever the statue ended up looking like, he had done his family proud.
He snickered to himself, thinking of Yoshi and Michelangelo meeting. He liked to think Yoshi would love all his sons, but Michelangelo would have entertained him to no end. The joy and love for life in the turtle is infectious to all, but his master would have found it especially endearing.
Splinter thought of it more often than he’d ever admit. It was lonely, being the single father of four mutants. He often imagined what his sensei might say or do, or how he would get along with the boys. When he was younger, newer to his this mutated body that rode the line between animal and man, he worried that his master would have been disgusted or ashamed of what he had become. Had Yoshi lived, would he have rejected Splinter? Or worse—his sons?
The thought bothered him less these days, as he became more comfortable in his body and his identity. The average human would be disgusted or scared of Splinter—a rat the size of a man—but his master would never have been one of them. Yoshi laid down his life defending the utrom, a species far more foreign to him that he had no reason to love besides the kindness of his own heart. By now, he knew better than to think a simple change in his body would be enough to estrange Yoshi.
Yoshi would have been surprised perhaps, the same way the Daimyo was when he realized the pet of a past Champion was following in his footsteps, but he would have loved Splinter all the same. Indeed, if he had possessed even a fraction of the bright, burning flame of pride that Splinter held for his sons, it would be enough.
Splinter picked up the orange and used a claw to pick a hole in the skin. He gazed a little longer at the image of his Yoshi, trying to commit each plane of his face to memory.
The distant murmur of the party abruptly became a roar, loud with laughter and joy, and Splinter’s ears flattened against his head. He hoped his sons were not causing too much trouble.
Splinter drew in a shaky breath and stood, then bowed deeply. “I believe it’s time I checked on my sons. I hope you are resting well, Master, and we have brought honor to your name today.”
If there were tears in his eyes as Splinter left the Pavilion, well, that was between himself and Yoshi.
Splinter wasn’t sure where Leonardo’s fascination with space had come from. Well, yes, he knew it originated with that silly Heroes show but why Leonardo had latched onto that so specifically, he couldn’t say.
It was a delight to see him aglow with such awe and passion, a sorrow in that Splinter couldn’t foster it very well here—not just down to earth but far underneath it. Donatello was satisfied with bits and pieces of scrap metal. Michelangelo was (ironically) over the moon to receive paper and paint. Raphael’s energy could be taken out on his mixed selection of action figures; it never mattered what franchise they were from.
But of course Leonardo strove higher, yearned farther in all areas of his life. Try as he might, he couldn’t settle. He would sit by for whatever show the family had picked but they could guess what he’d prefer to watch. He would go along with his brothers’ games of pretend but they could tell he would rather be playing astronauts. He wasn’t ungrateful for the toys his father found but what he wanted more than anything was a model of the Dauntless. He would never ask outright, self-aware enough to understand it was too exclusive for Splinter to scrounge up, but his desire was still plain enough to see.
He tugged abruptly, uncharacteristically against Splinter’s paw on their walk home from collecting algae for a late dinner. When Splinter glanced back, he found him staring intently through the sewer grate—no doubt trying to squint past the city’s light pollution toward the stars.
“Humans made it all the way to space,” he blurted as if they had been discussing it the whole trip, desperately wistful and stubbornly optimistic at once. “Maybe mutants could too!”
Splinter doubted it. He ached to watch him hope for something so obviously out of his reach…but a crushed hope would hurt infinitely more than a distant one. Let a sweet boy keep a sweet dream.
Pensively squeezing his hand, he allowed a simple, “Perhaps.” Stranger things had probably happened to stranger creatures than them.
In fifteen years Splinter had forgotten how…empty life was on his own.
Was this even life anymore? It certainly wasn’t a home. The lair felt just as hollow as the one lone creature left to shelter.
Every time Splinter opened his eyes—morning, night, it didn’t matter; any sense of a real sleep schedule had gone to the wind—the gray, empty world blurred with new tears. New tears, new depths to the ache, new days without them.
Without him. Without knowing. Anything could happen to Raphael out there, just as alone as his father was. The difference was Splinter had to live with the knowledge that it may have been preventable. Raphael wouldn’t agree; he felt there was no other choice but Splinter knew better. If he had just found the right words, if he had done more to prove he approached from a place of love, maybe he would have stayed. Maybe he could have convinced him he wanted, needed to be saved.
There was still time. Splinter had to believe that. While there was time, there was hope, if only his dear, damaged prodigal would return.
Bloodshot eyes burned as he reclosed them, tired beyond sense, straining to touch some trace of that scorching, spiraling creature of essence clawing at the spiritual plane. He could only follow the gnawing lack of it, the drain of its—his gaping wounds. The black hole of him.
Raphael…Did he still answer to that name? Please, offer a sign if you can still sense me…if you are still with me. I am here for you. He hesitated. If Raphael did sense him, he would likely detect the catch in those words: Splinter was here for him and nothing else—not The Excess.
But The Excess could surely sense his reticence too. He shouldn’t care what it thought but the longer it kept Raphael from him, the longer it could eat his heart away.
My son, I no longer care what you carry! I just want you back safe. Your absence is killing us both. Please, just come home!
tried for both with splinter mourning his brother’s absence. He loved Saki and the fun they had in the youth before the bad blood, before Saki found out about truth of his origins, before Yoshi let his anger blind him from the suffering of his brother and Saki’s intentions… one of my fav backstories tbhhhh
WHOOPS! This one’s a little late. I kinda got a bit carried away with it and it ended up taking WAYYYY longer than I meant it too lol.
Nother rise splinter one, sorry about that! But I think it’s SO fascinating that despite how much he talks about how much he loved his old life premutation, everytime we actually see him as Lou jitsu in a flashback (when he’s NOT performing or on camera) then he’s pretty miserable. I think it’s interesting :]
I’ve never drawn a foggy mirror before too so that was also very interesting. Lot of new techniques here.
If you’re interested in doing splinter week, check out @tmnt-splinterweek !! See you all tomorrow!
