#even if it's just pointing out a typo I'll be in you your debt))

[star-my]

berserk tiger - i. inception

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Kim Seo-ah (OC)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 1.7k

CW: mentions of stalking, threatening

A/N: I have very little plotted out for this series. It's gonna be random and sometimes I'll post non-chronological pieces. No beta so feel free to point out typos or give concrit. Compliments are always nice. Moodboard photos are taken from Pinterest, edit is mine.

| Series Masterlist & Description | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Taglist (open): @bangtan-famiglia-net @bangtanwritershq

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

The quick tempo of his footsteps sped up even more as she glanced behind her. He was gaining on her quickly. Practically running, she ducked around the corner, coming face-to-face with a man in black.

Gasping out a quick apology, she made the executive decision to ignore the stranger danger signs blaring in her mind. She was in enough danger from non-strangers as it was–besides, most crimes, especially violent ones against women, were committed by people the victim knew and were close to. Statistically, she was safer with this random guy she’d found all in black in a dark alley where no one else was around…wow, she wasn’t safe anywhere, was she?

Ignoring everything but the fact that so far Random Guy hadn’t pulled a knife on her, she cleared her throat and widened her eyes pleadingly, begging him to play along.

“Babe, I was waiting ages for you! What took you so long to come get me?” she exclaimed, taking his hand in hers, unwilling though he was.

He stepped out of the alley into the street and saw who she was running from. His gaze flicked down to her, then back at him. 

His grip tightened on her hand. 

A black car came gliding to a stop at the curb in front of them, and a man in a black suit climbed out of the driver’s seat to open the rear passenger door.

Random Guy handed her in with the grace of one born into a chaebol family, then closed the door and turned to face her pursuer.

She glanced through the smoked glass to see what was going on, surprised that she could barely hear any noise through the car.

The driver flashed a bright smile at her through the glass, blocking her view. Wow, he was really pretty.

The smile disappeared and he opened the door, letting Random Guy get in. She scooched over, tugging the hem of her dress down, aware she didn’t look her best at the moment. The interior light showed his gelled hair, soft features, onyx-sharp eyes, and a faded scar running down the right side of his face.

He studied her silently in return, making her uncomfortably aware of her wind-blown hair falling out of her braid, the perspiration beading on her body, and her rumpled clothes.

Putting a bright smile on her lips regardless, she extended her hand to him. “I appreciate your helping me get away from him. I sincerely thank you.”

He shook her hand, his large one dwarfing hers, his long fingers cool and clean. “You’re welcome. What is your name?”

“Oh, right. Kim Seo-ah.”

“Min Yoongi,” said the man just as his driver got in at the wheel. He threw him a startled look, glancing between her and her rescuer with an unreadable expression on his face.

The car started with a barely-there hum, and Min Yoongi turned to her again.

“Could you tell me what was happening back there?”

She glanced down, smoothing her hem more carefully than it called for. “He’s my little sister’s ex-boyfriend, Lee Geum. He created debts in her name and decided that we needed to placate him; he thinks he’s some hotshot yakuza or something, like he’s playing at being Agust D or something,” she laughed shortly. “He’s been following me home from the pawnshop where I work for the past few weeks, trying to intimidate me into giving him our money and following me to see our new living arrangements. I’ve managed to lose him so far, but today he started getting closer and closer and I saw him with a knife in his pocket. It was a blessing that you were there.”

He hummed, uninterested. “How many men does he have working for him that he thinks he’s the next Agust D?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe twenty or thirty? He’s not a good leader.”

Min Yoongi coughed. 

“Have you gone to the police and asked for their help to deal with the issue?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, Mr Min, but this part of town isn’t exactly the most protected place. We’re all too poor to require any real guarding. What valuables could we possibly have? And I did try the police, when he threatened my sister, but they didn’t care.”

The driver clicked his tongue disappointedly.

“What if someone was able to do something about it?”

“Like what?” Seo-ah glanced at him curiously.

“Sent evidence of his crimes to the police or something. Do you think that maybe they’d take you seriously and do something about it then?”

“Maybe,” she admitted dubiously.

“Are you any good at acting?”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “I’d say I’m decent. Why?”

He simply flattened his mouth into what she suspected was a half-smile but could have been a grimace. She took the hint and dropped her line of questioning.

With a gasp she realized that the car had stopped outside of a luxurious villa in Seongbuk-dong. 

The driver opened her door, extending his hand to her. She gingerly took it, stepping out onto the pebbled drive as she took in her gated surroundings. 

Min Yoongi’s warmth alerted her to his presence behind her.

“Er…”

“Come with me.” He took her elbow gently, leading her into the house, past a man in a suit like the driver’s, but looking considerably more dangerous. 

Min Yoongi led her to the kitchen, putting a kettle on to boil for tea and pulling out two cups.

He paused, hand on a cupboard door as he glanced back at her. “Would you prefer something a little bit stronger?”

“I’m alright with tea. Thank you. May I ask why I’m here?”

“Because I’d like to talk to you.”

“Without asking for my permission?” she raised an eyebrow, dropping the formal tone.

He raised one back at her impropriety.

“You essentially kidnap me, I don’t have to add honorifics,” she shrugged, hoping to cover up the unsettling thought she’d been struck by, that she’d traded the devil she knew for the one she didn’t.

“I apologize. Would you like to join me for tea at my home?”

“I’d prefer to have you to mine as a thank you, but given your look–” she waved a hand at his suit–”and my home, this is the better option. I’d be delighted to join you, thank you for asking.”

He gave her another inscrutable, curious look as he poured the tea. “You’re welcome.”

She perched, feeling only slightly awkward and out of place, on the white leather seats at his marble island, gratefully taking the cup he handed her.

He stood across from her, his own cup in hand. 

“So, from what I’ve gathered from you, is that you’re the head of a low-income household, you’re in financial difficulty, your dongsaeng’s ex is threatening trouble, and there’s not much happening to address these issues.”

She swallowed a sip of the hot tea, feeling like the words had burned hotter than her tongue now was. That was her situation, but somehow the cold way he had laid out those facts threatened to tear down the defensive walls she’d built.

“Yes, that is the state of things,” she said quietly, already feeling the fuzz on her tongue from the tea burn.

“How much debt did the ex leave you?”

She swallowed another sip. “About thirteen million won.”

As expected of a man who lived in this area, he didn’t bat an eye.

“I have a proposal for you, then.”

She nodded.

“I will help you pay off your debts and take care of this ex, and in return you will enter a contractual marriage with me for five years.”

Seo-ah coughed, expelling the tea from her windpipe that she’d inhaled in shock. “You want me to do what?”

“Marry me. For five years. What do you say?”

“Why do you need a wife? You look fairly young, you’re rich and hot and appear to be influential.”

He smirked at her list of his traits. “Business reasons. There are some things I cannot tell you until you have signed the contract, if you so agree. I’ve been looking for the right wife for a while now, and I think you’ll be splendid.”

“Could I have a copy of this contract so I know what’s expected?”

Min Yoongi pulled his cell phone out and pressed a button. “I need the papers in the kitchen.”

A minute later footsteps sounded in the hallway, then a man in a suit jogged into the kitchen, carrying a small briefcase in hand. He paused as he took in the scene, then handed the briefcase off to Min Yoongi.

He opened the briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers, rifling through them to collect a handful that he handed off to  her.

She flipped through them, reading the surprisingly simple legal jargon. It looked aboveboard. 

She was getting desperate: some creditors were already hounding her enough without Geum’s pressure, Jinah would be needing to pay for her schooling, plus the usual living expenses…Well, she could use this stroke of luck that had fallen into her lap. She was well aware that this contract, though it sounded fair, would likely end in Min Yoongi’s favour, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. He was the best option at the present time and she would not borrow trouble from her future self.

“I’ll do it,” she declared.

The man who’d brought the briefcase handed her a pen, the clicking of the end sounding loud in the suddenly supernaturally still kitchen.

She signed her name with a flourish, watching the black ink seep into the paper. Min Yoongi took the pen from her and slid the papers from under her arm, scrawling his signature quickly and handing them to the man.

“The registration will come through in a couple days. Would you like to stay here until then?” he asked courteously.

She shook her head. “I appreciate your offer, and this opportunity, but I need to get back to my sister. I don’t like leaving her alone in our area, especially with her ex around.”

“Alright, I’ll get Hoseok to take you back. Thank you for signing this.”

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry despite the two cups of tea she’d drunk.

[galaxythreads]

Hello. Ahhh this may be an odd ask so apologies for that. And apologies for the gazillion spelling errors throughout.

 But i wanted to tell u that u r probaly one of my favorite fic writers. Esp within the marvel fandom. Ive reread your fics more times than i can count and greatly enjoy your writing style. So with that in mind please know im trying to say this kindly. 

You are my favorite fic writer . But Im also physically disabled. Your works frequently vist topics of disablity- physical and mental. And even more frequently do u use the word cripple in each work. 

Cripple is a slur agaisnt physically disabled people. It always has been. I understand that its a word that has become very normalized and so phrases like “crippling anxiety” or “crippling debt” or other variations are incredibly common. But its still a slur. And if you are not physically disabled you shouldnt be using this word to describe anyone, but especailay physically disabled charcters. 

One line that i think about quite frequently is in stygain where a charcter remarks that “this disablity had crippled the asgardian” and that is far from the only time something simillar is thought or said about loki, who is blind and physically disabled in this work. 

Frankly Its hard for me to overstate how frequently cripple pops up in your other works too. 

 I understand that this probaly comes from somewhere of ignorarance or just not knowing. But its frustrating to watch such a skilled authour constantly use words that cause serious fucking harm to me and my community. Its very isolating.

i also know that you are (or were) in the process of rewriting stygan. A work prominantly featuring a disabled charcter. And i am asking you to please consider us and the words you chose as you write. 

Again im sorry for the typos or if this is not as perfectly clear as u and i would like it to be. I recomend that you look around more on tumblr or elsewhere for disabled perspectives on this.

Heres one from a disabled authour:

https://cy-cyborg.tumblr.com/post/726304244629749760/cripple-is-a-slur/amp

Thank you for your time, and thank you for your works. I hope you have a good day or night.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. No, I was not aware that it was a slur. It was my understanding that it was a reclaimed slur, or that most people used the first definition of the word rather than the second, but I can definitely see why it would be extremely frustrating to see that repeated everywhere.

I imagine this is a bit like me and suicide jokes. I can't stand them. They feel insensitive to me, as someone who has attempted, to the point that I have to leave the room/chat when someone makes a joke about it. I'm working on emotional regulation for this - because it is impossible to escape haha - but I can see where you're coming from. Like the squishy Bad feeling. And I don't want to give anyone the squishy bad feeling. I feel really sad that I did.

Any use of cripple has been removed from all of my works - i've double-checked everything, but if you see any more feel free to point it out - and I will be more careful with my word choice in the future.

If you are referring specifically to the blodig skog - which is, haha, filled with internalized ableism - me and another disabled anon have had a long discussion about that work and we came to an understanding about the content in it. I'll give that to you as well, and maybe I'll leave a note at the beginning of the fic, because I know that one goes really, really hard on internalized ableism, which is a very sensitive subject for so many people.

I don't know if you're aware of this, but my left leg is. Not right. I caused some severe damage to it over the course of my eating disorder - damage which has slowly been getting better - but at the time I wrote it, I could barely walk, the pain was debilitating at times, and i was extremely miserable. That work is me Projecting Very Hard Onto Thor, which is why it's like that. As that was a deeply personal experience to me that I was sharing the feelings of, I'm reluctant to change the content inside of it, but I did change the language so everyone can be more comfortable.

Again, thanks for bringing this to my attention, I am sincerely sorry that my ignorance caused distress, pain, or whatever word we want to put here. I take full responsibility for this. I should have double-checked that my understanding was correct, but I do know now, and I promise I will be more careful because i want everyone to feel safe and respected when they read my work. It was never my intention to harm, but that doesn't mean I didn't.

Thank you for the resource, I'll make sure to look at that.

All the best! <3<3<3

-Galaxy

[mollykittykat]

The Cupboard Game Pt. 1

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst.

There was a knock on the door, signaling the next round of the cupboard game. There was barely a half second’s pause before the four children sprang into action, covering their tracks and scampering in separate directions.

Rule one: no leaving out toys or coloring books. The objects didn’t have to go where they belonged, they only needed to be out of sight; tucked under a couch or shoved between a mattress… whatever got rid of it quicker.

Rule two: remain absolutely silent. This was the second most important rule of the game. Speed and efficiency got you points, but if you tripped trying to get to you hiding spot or couldn’t sit still once you were hidden your chances of winning were practically null. Michelangelo struggled with this rule for a long time, and even now he had some problems refraining from readjusting his position after settling in the cramped storage chest.

Rule three: you have to wait for the signal before you can leave you hiding spot. The signal wasn’t the stranger’s goodbye or the footsteps disappearing down the hall, it was the sound of their father rapping on the wall with his knuckles when he was certain the coast was clear. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. Then they all climbed out and abided by rule four: no talking for five minutes. They were permitted to read and draw, but no spoken words were allowed. Then, when time was up, Splinter decided on who won the cupboard game and the winner would get a piece of candy.

Half the time Leonardo won. Donnie was a close second, as he was very dutiful about putting his things away and always seemed to know the quickest most efficient route to the nearest hiding spot. Michelangelo, as aforementioned, had problems with fidgeting, but he was small and quick, good at fitting into small corners. Raphael was a tad bit more manic, his determination to outdo his siblings causing him behave recklessly every time the game started. Competition had always been a difficult subject for Raphael, as there was practically no grey area separating desperation from indifference. There was one instance when… after a long winning streak from Leonardo… the hotheaded child actually decided that he was no longer going to play The Cupboard Game. There was the knock at the door, and as his brothers began to scatter Raph stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, staring at his father in a challenging manner.

Splinter motioned for him to hide, and Raphael stomped his foot and screamed “no!” like only a four year old could.

This immediately proved to be a terrible, terrible decision. One hand was snapped violently over Raph’s mouth, remaining there even as the child bit at his father’s palm. Splinter’s other hand painfully gripped a pressure point in the defiant tot’s neck as he dragged him the final distance to the kitchen area and shut the tantruming child away in the cupboard.

The cupboard was never meant to be a place of punishment. Leonardo’s earliest memory was of him and his four siblings snug beneath blankets, dozing away in the comforting darkness of the space lit alone by the gentle red glow of the light on the baby monitor. That monitor served as Splinter’s only way of knowing if any of them started crying, because otherwise the cupboard was locked tight and completely soundproofed. It was technically their first hiding spot before any of them could properly comprehend the rules of the cupboard game. Now it served as sort of a “tantrum room.” If you couldn’t keep your voice down you’d go into the cupboard, which would then be locked for a set amount of time. Raphael of course slammed his tiny legs against the cabinet doors, but the light thumping and nearly inaudible screaming was soon drowned out by a radio Splinter turned on before answering the door.

It was only a package. The person who had delivered it was long gone, leaving the cardboard box filled with preschool-appropriate reading material on the stoop of the dingy apartment room. Splinter brought the package in, ignoring rule three of the game in order to drag Raphael out of the cupboard and scold him.

“When I tell you to hide, you hide!” he reprimanded, face flushed with anger as he clasped the tiny turtle by the shoulders and shook him “do you understand me?!” Raphael tried to answer, but he was crying too hard to form words, struggling to keep the volume of his own sobs down in order to avoid further punishment. “I said do you understand me!?” “It… it hurts Papa…”

Splinter suddenly stopped. Coming to his senses he realized the terrified expression on the four year old’s face. Raphael had acted like a child, but he was a child, a child who had not yet been told the severity of the situation. Even if the matter had been fully explained, however, it was no excuse for the bruises Splinter found that his clenched hands were leaving on the little creature’s shoulders. At once the fear and the anger was gone, and in it’s place was a suffocating sense of guilt. Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo crept out of their hiding spots, drawn out by the commotion, and were greeted by the sight of Raphael wrapped inside a firm embrace, their father on his knees on the tile floor sobbing out apologies.

Rule 5 of The Cupboard Game: There is no opting out of the cupboard game.   This was the most single most important rule.

Soon after the incident Splinter sat his sons down for tea and a family meeting. There, he explained that if anyone found out there were four talking turtles living in the apartment, there was a chance someone would try and take them away. As far as he knew, the four of them were the only turtles in the world that could walk and grow and interact like humans, and such things often made people afraid. That was why they had to play the game. That was none of them were allowed to leave the apartment. Leonardo brought up the issue that their home was so small, with barely enough room for so much as a game of tag, and Splinter somberly agreed. He promised that one day he’d find a bigger home for them, although he failed to mention that such a thing was easier said than done when one has recently started their life over, working a janitorial job with not a penny to their name, which too had been changed over the course of the move. Of course Michelangelo, unaware of this, never refrained from using his crayons to draw big castles and bright green backyards, basing his idea of what their future home should look like off the cartoons that kept him quiet and satiated.

In the following weeks Splinter seemed to come home a good deal later than normal, acting far sleepier than before, often sore and suffering from bad headaches, falling short on household duties and phonics lessons much to his visible shame. “I can only get us a bigger home if I work harder” was the answer Donatello received after no small amount of prying, though the explanation made the lispy little knowitall fairly indignant. Eight hours of sleep and no more than forty hours of work per week was the healthy statistic, he declared, and here Splinter was pushing seventy hours per week while getting between five and six hours of sleep every night. Unfortunately, the preschooler’s wordy little lecture won him nothing more than a pat on the head and a promise that it wouldn’t last forever.

The knock came one more time, everyone and everything safely hidden away by the time Splinter gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open. Donnie was tucked in the cardboard box under the bed, Leo was buried in shredded newspaper in the wooden chest next to the couch, Raph was behind an ironing board in the coat closet, and Michelangelo was hugging a teddybear behind a wooden panel on the bottom book shelf, when they all overheard a strange high-pitched raspy voice speaking out in a sharp informal manner.

“Aye! if it isn’t ‘The Splinter!’ I was afraid I got the wrong address for a second there!”

“…. Daiki. Or ‘Mister Takara' if you’re trying to sell me something.” Leonardo noted the tone with which his father correct the stranger; the inflectionless mutter of annoyance he usually used when the old lady downstairs reminded him about the rent. “Look, I know what you want. I told you we’ll talk about it another time.”

“Oh don’t pull that stunt again Splints.” The door was jammed by the stranger’s foot, and all of a sudden there were footsteps making their way into the living area. The hiding children tensed, unnerved by this turn of events. Splinter didn’t let anyone into the apartment, not ever, and it was clear by the tone of their father’s voice that he was as uncomfortable as they were. “What do you think you’re-” “Getting your attention”

Despite knowing it would kill his chances at winning, Michelangelo gently shifted aside the wooden panel keeping him hidden, hoping to catch a much-needed peek of the ensuing conversation. He couldn’t see his father through the slit but he could see a stranger with big sunken eyes and the structure of a scarecrow, brightly colored tattoos all down his arm and along his face. Immediately he thought of some of the super villains in the Wingnut and Screwloose cartoons and hugged his teddybear a little tighter.

“Ha! Man, this place looks like a real hunk of garbage, and what’s with all the thrift shop furniture?” The intruder laughed, giving the couch a light kick of disdain “I guess this is what happens when you work in a profession you’re not made for, eh?”

“My job at Channel Six suites me just fine, Nezumi” Splinter returned, “and you need to leave.” He attempted to subtly herd the invader back to the doorway, but the goon saw through the attempt and sidestepped him.

“Yeah, on your knees scrubbing bathroom stalls. Sources say you just got yourself a part-time job loading crates down at the docks too. You’re obviously in need of funds, why didn’t you give me a call?” Nezumi’s insult followed up by the revelation that he’d been snooping left Splinter at a momentary loss for words. “The last time we worked together was three years ago” he eventually answered when he found his voice again, hands clenched at his sides “and I put our partnership to an end at the first opportunity. You know perfectly well that I have no intention of going back.”

“You beat Visioso’s best guy in thirty seconds flat! How am I supposed to let a powerhouse like that just walk away?”

“Listen” There was a light thump. Michelangelo could see Splinter’s hand grip the intruder’s shirt collar, loosely pinning him against the wall. Mikey instinctively flinched, then pressed his ear to the wooden panel, straining to make out his father’s nearly inaudible whisper

“You know what happened all those years ago? You caught me at a moment of desperation. I don’t like fighting for the sake of entertainment, especially dangerous and illegal entertainment, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice, so stop. Haunting. Me.”

Mikey didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, not because he couldn’t hear but because he simply hadn’t Donnie to explain the sentence’s meaning to him in layman’s terms. To him it just seemed like a jumble of standalone words, mashed into sentences that had no coherency. What he did know, however, was that his dad sounded frustrated, and Nezumi sounded like he didn’t care.

“They’ve raised a fifty thousand dollar purse for the final round” the intruder continued, speaking loudly and excitedly as he proceeded to ignore everything Splinter had just said “Some of the baddest of the bad are going to be pitted against each other, and I know you can beat every last one of them. Daiki, we can’t lose!” This time there was no holding back. A firm hand gripped the gangly stranger by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to move toward the doorway

“Thank you for the visit.”

“You- you can’t be content living like this!” Nezumi futilely struggled against the iron grip like a fish writhing on a hook “There’s got to be something that can get you fighting again!”

“Goodbye”

From his corner of the closet Raphael had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing as he heard Nezumi thrown out into the hallway, stumbling into the apposing wall by the force of the shove, Splinter evicting him with minimal effort. Mikey found it funny too, so much so that he pushed the panel hiding him aside just a bit further to get a better glimpse of the action. The hideous sunken eyes of the man in the hallway glared daggers at Splinter, flicked around in thoughtful frustration, and then suddenly landed upon Michelangelo’s big blue orbs peering out of the gap in the bookshelf. The youngest turtle’s heart leapt as he met the stranger’s dark gaze, a newfound look of shock and confusion overtaking Nezumi’s face before suddenly their silent exchange was cut off by the shut door, which Splinter immediately locked.

Michelangelo scampered to push the panel back in place, his heart still stuck in his throat, stomach twisting as he thought about the ugly man and his startled expression. He didn’t care if Splinter knew that he had broken the rules of the game. As bad as his father’s scoldings were he was now certain that someone saw him. That meant someone was going to come and take him away, and he would never get to see his dad or his brothers ever again. That thought stayed with him, and the more he pondered it the harder he cried, small muffled sobs escaping him as he played out the worst possible outcome in his mind, every detail exaggerated and emphasized by his overactive imagination.

Soft heart shattered by the prospect of separation he stayed where he was even after Splinter knocked on the wall. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. The final five minutes passed, then ten after that, but Michelangelo didn’t move.

Finally there was a knock on the wood panel of the book shelf, the hands of his elder brother shoving back the barrier before Mikey could so much as answer. Raph was wearing a smug smile, cheeks puffed up with an arcor strawberry cream candy, arms crossed over his chest as if he’d just defeated the king of the world. “I won! I won I won! Look!…” Raphael stuck out his tongue, the little hard candy balanced upon it, but the taunting gesture didn’t last long when Raphael noticed that Michelangelo was still crying, face pressed into his tear-soaked teddybear, shoulders heaving with every panicked sob.

Confused, then regretful, the hotheaded tot removed the partially eaten treat from his tongue and held it out to his little brother. “Hereyago. Shush okay? you’ can have it if you wannit…” But it was no use. Michelangelo was unresponsive to the offer, and if anything his sobs had only gotten louder since his brother invaded his hiding place. Knowing that the refusal of food was something serious, especially for a turtle like Michelangelo, Raphael backed off and raced to fetch his father, getting his attention with a few tugs on his pant leg. Now hearing Mikey’s sobs himself Splinter removed himself from dinner duty, kneeling down by the bookshelf to examine the situation while Leonardo hopped up on the kitchen counter to keep the ramen noodles stirred, Donatello rattling off the instructions on the cardboard box.

“Michelangelo?” Mikey looked up from his stuffed animal just in time to see familiar hands reach into the bookshelf, pulling him into the light of the living area. “Hush my son, it’s alright”  The deep paternal voice was a million miles off from the sharp angry tone with which Splinter had addressed the stranger. Finding something to tether his emotions to Mikey abandoned his teddybear altogether and gripped the fabric of Splinter’s buttondown shirt like his life depended on it. He buried his face in his father’s chest, tears giving way to light hiccups as strong reassuring palms coarse with callouses rubbed up and down the turtle’s shell.

Splinter picked Mikey up and moved to the couch, cradling the sobbing four year old in his lap as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” Michelangelo found it a struggle to answer. Even though he knew what he wanted to say he was afraid to say it. He wasn’t going to just get in trouble, he was going to make everyone angry and scared, but deep down he knew it was better than them not knowing what had happened all, especially if this was going to put him and his brothers in danger. “…He looked a’me!” “Who?” “The.. the… Th’man!” Mikey hiccuped as his gaze moved to the door, breathing heavily as he was caught in the throes of a fresh crying fit. “I know I- I was s’posed to stay h-hidden but- *hic*… I- I… wanted t’see wh- who- what was… an’ I- *hic*…I… I peeked”

It took Splinter a few seconds to understand just what his son was going on about. Realizing what had happened he looked concerned himself, gaze moving toward the bookshelf briefly before returning to Michelangelo. “And you’re certain he saw you?” “I… I think so. He- *hic* he l-looked over at me th-then his face got all weird, then y’closed the door an… an… an…” Unable to finish his thought Michelangelo buried his face back into his fathers chest, a long sorrowful exhale wetting his parent’s work shirt with snot. Splinter gently rocked back in forth, working to soothe the distraught tot as his gaze coasted back and forth between the bookshelf and the door, a sense of dread building up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that someone had caught sight of one of the turtles. Especially someone like Nezumi.

“Well, he is more likely to think he was imagining things than assume that a talking turtle lives in my apartment” Splinter coaxed, working to reassure himself as well as the kid he clutched in his arms. “Is someone gonna take me away?” “I don’t think so” Splinter smiled pityingly at his son, picking him up and repositioning him on his lap so that he could look him in he eyes. “Now, I am disappointed that you let yourself be seen like that. You know that it would have been safer if you had stayed hidden… but I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything. After all, you’re safe here.”

“Yeah!” Raphael suddenly interjected, climbing up onto the couch next to his father, clasping an egg timer from the kitchen in his large green hands “An’ if he does try somethin’, Papa’s gonna kick him in the mouth so hard, that Noobzumi dork’s gonna poop teeth!” Despite the tears still running down his cheeks Michelangelo began to dissolve into giggles, the mere mention of the word ‘poop’ striking him as the epitome of comedy. Splinter, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly violent statement coming out of his four year old son.  Seeing he’d accomplished the job of cheering up his younger sibling while recognizing the threat of another oncoming scolding, Raphael quickly twisted the knob of the egg timer, forcing it to ring ten seconds early. “Eggs is done!” He tossed the timer onto his father’s lap and scampered back to the kitchen area, where Leonardo and Donatello were struggling to portion the steaming of noodles and the eggs, threatening to accidentally topple the large pots of boiling water in the process. “Boys, stop! let me handle that!” Splinter immediately put Mikey on the cushion next to him before rising to his feet and hurrying to the stove, leaving the youngest to ponder the conversation while he finished dinner preparations.

Mikey didn’t like that look on Nezumi’s face. In fact he was quite certain he didn’t like Nezumi at all, which was not a feeling he was accustomed to… disliking someone at first glance. However, his father seemed to be confident that this slip-up wouldn’t result in catastrophe. Reassured, Mikey wiped the last bit of snot away from his face with his elbow, then slipped down from the couch to retrieve his teddybear.

“It’s okay. ‘Aphie’s right” he soothed, picking up his stuffed animal and cradling it in his arms much like his own father had done with him just a few moment’s ago “Papa’s gonna make sure nothin' bad’s gonna happen.” “Now come on…”  He looped the tear-soaked teddy around his shoulders, giving it a piggyback ride to the kitchen “it’s time for dinner. Not pizza this time, but chick’n ramen’s super good too, so no whining!”