#read the fic. cried. banged this out in a time crunch

[crowiin]

ace from “mark for mark and sin for sin” by @midnightluck. it’s a delightfully painful sickfic with a twist on the regular tropes

[eckvan]

THIS IS HOW I DISAPPEAR 

I wrote this one shot during the mini-bang hosted by the wonderful @grishaversebigbang! I’ve never written grishaverse fanfiction before and it was a lot of fun to actually put words to something I’ve been thinking about for a while.

Thank you to my amazing materialki (artists) who created some absolutely stunning artwork for my piece!! I may never emotionally recover! Please check them out!

- @zethia / @8amtrain (link)

- @octopiconsortium (link)

Summary: Wylan uses his sudden ostracization from his father to present how he’s always wanted to. (AKA trans masc Wylan doing his thing before the events of Six of Crows).

here is the ao3 link and the full fic is under the cut

The grime of the ketterdam canals didn’t wash off easy, especially not in the cold basin of bath water he’d been overcharged for. It was a shared bathing room for the boarding house he was staying in. One for which he had to wait in a line wearing clothing that managed to both be uncomfortably stiff and cling to his body when he had first arrived. When it was finally his turn, the small cracked mirror nailed to the wall reflected back how his blotchy red cheeks glowed where the tear tracks had managed to wipe away the filth. Filth from plunging into the freezing cold waters after his father almost had him killed. From swimming for his life. From dragging himself over the lip of the canal. From the fact that he was no longer his father’s daughter. That his father had successfully killed her, even if his reflection would argue otherwise. If his father wanted him to disappear then so be it.

When he first introduced himself as Wylan Hendriks he cried, much to the exasperation of his new landlord. The man just leveled a stone heavy glare at him until he paid for the first week’s rent and an additional bar of soap, scissors, a loose pair of trousers, and a men’s blouse that could have passed as a modest dress for its length. The scissors he had purchased now sat untouched on the side table where someone had scratched some impressively vulgar phrases.

Now he sat in the cramped room he had managed to rent. The cot crunched as if it was stuffed partially with leaves, which he suspected it was, and he held himself as the queasy feeling in his stomach refused to subside. His new clothes scratched at his skin. His satchel sat under the brown stained window that  looked into a narrow alleyway. A spider in the corner of the room weaved its string to make a blanket to sleep in. It reminded him of the raggedy sheets and pillow that had come with the room that were moth eaten despite the lack of moths in both the room and the spiders’ web.

“If we are both paying rent, then why do you get the luxury suite?” He joked. Or tried to joke - his voice cracked in the tenor he was trying to keep up as the day crashed back down on him. Tears came to eyes but he refused to cry. After he had crawled out of the canal, bitterly cold and dripping in the brisk winter night, he had stumbled his way into the Barrel. Through the Ketterdam smog and the sloshing of his soaking wet boots, until he found a room to rent with the money his father had given him before he left. And what had he given his name as? Hendriks - if his father was to reject him because of his inability to read, then he would pay him the same respect. Van Eck was no longer his name, it was something to be earned  and at this point he wasn’t interested in paying. Plus, his father would have a harder time finding him. A Van Eck renting a room was too noticeable. Trickier still, was his first name. If he was rejecting his father’s last name, then why keep the family name he had inherited upon his birth? A name heavy with expectations, with tradition to follow and uphold. Setting the path of being a dutiful and studied wife. No. Instead, he used the name of a Kerch chemist he had studied in his youth. A name sweet on his tongue, despite his parched mouth and empty stomach.

Wylan had been holed up in the room for almost three days since he had arrived, leaving only when his stomach grew too loud, but he was still holding his breath. Waiting for someone to barge into the room and drag him back to his father’s estate or just shoot him dead. He kept reaching up to touch the purple bruise around his throat where he had nearly been strangled to death. Yet the time kept ticking on and the spider’s web slowly grew. Maybe he didn’t need to hold his breath anymore, maybe he didn’t need to fear drowning while his father pushed his head under and demanded he learned how to breath under water. Perhaps he had successfully disappeared, slipped into the cracks of Ketterdam with his father none the wiser. Maybe for the first time, he was treading water. Rubbing the rough sheets between his finger and thumb, Wylan’s shoulders’ relaxed. Yes, he still felt like a shark was going to drag him under at any moment. But, at least he had a chance. He was Wylan Hendriks now not Jan Van Eck’s disappointment of heir. One he had gotten rid of as soon as he knew he could replace him. So, he stood swiftly. Reaching down, he tenderly picked up the dull silver scissors. He clenched the handles, digging his dirty nails into his palms. Wylan brought the scissors up to the nape of his neck, where the braid of his long ruddy hair began. It was not just his hair, it was his mother’s.  It was one of the only connections he had to her anymore. The clenching in his chest eased as clarity washed over him and he sliced off his thick braid with a hard clamp. He still had his mother’s hair. Now it was just her son’s hair. 

He ran a hand through his short hair and he let out a giddy laugh at the choppy and uneven curls that he felt. Looking up the spider, who sat stationary on its web with interconnecting strings like ripples in a pond, Wylan giggled again. If the spider could make a home here, surely he could as well. Sure, he was short and scared. Nevertheless, the small spider had done it. He looked up at it and, ridiculously, he felt as if it was looking back. Perched right over the window, looking down at him. Wylan sat down heavily on the bed, the frame creaking, and looked back and forth between the spiderweb and the braid he held in his hand. Invisible ants still crawled down his throat like it was going to close up from fear. But, he was Wylan Hendriks and string by string, under and over, he could build a life he hadn’t let himself imagine before. He could be the son his father hadn’t wanted. He could be the son his mother never got to see. If Wylan was going to disappear, it was going to be on his terms.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Return to Oz

Rating: T

Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)

Characters: The Wizard of Oz, the Gump, Tik-Tok, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, Princess Mombi, Princess Ozma, Jack Pumpkinhead, and Dorothy Gale

Warnings: Gun violence, character death, isolation, solitary confinement, dissociation, neglect, child abuse, OH GOSH THIS COVERS A LOT OF TRIGGERING TOPICS BUT IT’S ALL CANON

Description: "The last thing I remember is walkin' through the forest and hearin' a loud noise." "His Ma-jes-ty the Scare-crow locked me in here and told me to wait for you." "Well, my mother built me to scare that awful witch Mombi..." It was all only a glimpse of what they went through. Dorothy may never know the full stories, but they would not forget.

Beta Readers: @jaywings​ and also my sister!

Notes: THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH RTO FICS OUT THERE AND I MUST RESOLVE THIS IMMEDIATELY also this is a multichapter fic but it’s all complete, so you can read the whole thing under the cut!

—~~~—

Chapter 1: On a Hunting Trip

For a land as fantastical as Oz, it could be dreadfully boring sometimes. Though Oscar chalked it up to how much time he had to spend holed up in the palace, dodging probing questions and pretending to have magical powers. A great deal of his time here had been spent coming up with his dazzling effects to keep the Ozians (and the Witches) wowed (and keeping... other meddling Ozians out of the Emerald City), but goodness knew he could use some leisure time.

So that was what he was out doing now, tramping through a nearby forest with a rifle on his shoulder. He'd bartered it off a local Emerald Citizen, who had little use of it, but who had much appreciated some delicacies from the palace kitchen.

Of course, he knew that one of his own citizens would be more than happy to give him whatever he asked for. But Oscar had elected to leave in disguise, informing his attendants that he would need some time alone in perfect silence and was not to be bothered for any reason... while he changed into a green hunter's outfit and sneaked out the window.

He'd never been much of a hunter back in America, but as a boy he'd once gone deer hunting with a friend. He recalled it being an exciting experience, trekking through the wood and tracking an animal to bring home for supper. Though in the end it had been his friend to do the deed, for at the last minute his will had failed him, and he could not bring himself to shoot the beast.

You've too soft a heart to kill a hart, Pinhead! his friend had teased, much to his embarrassment.

"A hart, maybe," Oscar muttered, "but wait till I bring back a magical beast from this country!"

It wasn't until he'd spoken those words that he realized he had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in these woods. He'd heard talk of terrible lions here, and even enormous beasts with the heads of tigers and bodies of bears--kalidahs, they called them. What if he met one of those monsters, rather than a beast of prey?

Crunch, crunch.

Swallowing a yelp, Oscar spun around, pointing his rifle this and that way, eyes straining to see what sort of creature was lurking in the shadows of the forest. What had he gotten himself into? What hellish monster was treading through the fallen leaves of the forest bed?

Crunch, crunch.

The sound was closer, and Oscar stood stock still. But the sound drew no farther than that, and he risked to creep closer, tip-toeing through the undergrowth. In the stillness, he could hear the soft breathing of a being much larger than himself, and held his breath as he poked his head around a tree trunk.

There was a clearing ahead, and within it, a pond of crystal blue-green water (so he must be closer to Munchkin country right now). And before the water stood an enormous beast, albeit not one quite as frightening as he expected.

It was tall and broad, almost reminding him of an ox, but its legs were longer, and its head looked to be more like an elk. Bizarrely, its tail consisted of a great deal of feathers like a rooster, and its entire body was green.

Stooping down over the water, the beast kept its mouth near the surface, but it did not drink. Rather, it seemed to be regarding its own reflection in the water. It hadn't seen him at all.

Some of the tension eased from Oscar's body as he watched this strange creature. If it hadn't been for the feathers and green complexion, he would have entirely mistaken it for an American animal. And while its size was intimidating, it was clearly not a predator, as far as he could tell. (But then, Oz was a strange country.) He very nearly turned and left before he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.

It had only been to alleviate boredom, not out of a true desire to hunt, but it seemed to be a waste to come out all this way to return back empty-handed. At the same time, what would he even do with a beast like this? It wasn't as though he needed food, when his own palace was well-stocked. Perhaps its fur would be valuable? But then... for what? No one had need of any riches in this place. Perhaps he could use it for a--

Crunch crunch crunch crunch--snap.

Something was rapidly approaching him, and fear bolted up his spine, causing him to raise his rifle. Simultaneously, the beast raised its head, ears perked, and Oscar had no time to think.

BANG!

The creature stumbled backward, but whatever was behind him had quickened its pace. Oscar spun around, aiming his rifle, and a human-sized shape jumped back.

"Woah, there! Woah!" the woman cried, holding up her hands. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing! I was just wonderin' what you were doing out here."

"Ah," Oscar breathed, lowering the gun. "Sorry, ma'am, you startled me."

"Bad thing to be startled when carrying one of those," she said, gesturing at the weapon. "You could've hurt someone or--"

She froze, staring at something over his shoulder, and without another word ran past him.

"Now see here--" Oscar turned to follow her, but stopped.

The creature he'd seen earlier was now lying still on the forest floor, and the woman was kneeling next to it. "You've... you've killed it!"

The sight sent a tremor up his spine as he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't balk now.

"Well, yes," Oscar said, shrugging widely as he stepped closer. "Do you think I wear this hunter garb and carry this rifle for fun?"

Running a hand through the beast's mane, she glared at him accusingly. "What would you hunt a gump for?"

For a moment he thought the woman was insulting him until he realized that must be the name of the creature. Thinking quickly, he pointed at the gump's lifeless body. "I'll have you know, ma'am, that a gump possesses many important magical properties!"

"You needn't kill it, then!" the woman cried. "If you should need its magic, you need only ask it for help."

...Oh, right. Ozian beasts could talk.

Shaking himself, Oscar stood his ground. "Ah, but you see, much of a gump's magic is only usable when it is dead. I had planned to bring it to the Wizard, but I suppose if you don't want him to do anything about the Wicked Witches--"

The woman's face had gone several shades paler, and she stood upright. "No, of course! I'm sorry, sir, I-I didn't..."

He stepped closer, examining the fallen gump before grabbing one of its legs. "Well, don't just sit there. Help me get this beast back to the city! The Wizard is quite a busy man, but I'm sure he'd forgive your interruption if you gave me a hand."

"Yes, of course!"

The woman took the gump's other hoof in her arms, and the two struggled to lift both appendages up over their shoulders as they hauled the beast's carcass back through the forest. All the while, Oscar tried to hide his relief that his bluff had actually worked.

But then, of course it had. These simpletons believed anything they were told if you spoke with authority. They weren't too far off from Americans, in that regard.

As they walked, the woman stared down at the gump's hoof, feeling it with her free hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "I hadn't known..."

"Now you do," Oscar said, still staring ahead. "I tell you, this beast will be more useful to this country in death than it ever was in life."

Chapter 2: On a Mission

Every so often, someone stopped screaming.

The sound, or increasing lack of it, did not alarm Tik-Tok. Nothing did, nor could it--not even the frightened Emerald Citizens rushing past him or looking for a place to hide--for he was a machine, and was not capable of emotions such as panic or fear.

Nevertheless, the change informed him that he needed to be faster, as he marched through the city, past the statues of people dancing, playing, reading--statues that had not been statues a mere ten minutes ago.

The ground shifted beneath his feet, and Tik-Tok bent down to see a grotesque figure claw out of the stones beneath him. At least, that's what he had assumed at first, only to quickly realize (for his think-works were fully wound) that it had not clawed out of the rock at all--it was the rock. It opened its mouth, snarling at him, and he merely swung his body to the side, striking with a closed fist. One of the creature's fangs chipped off, and it sank back into itself with a defeated howl.

More snarling joined the increasingly-quieting screams, and there was suddenly a great crack.

Tipping his body back, Tik-Tok spotted two more of the rock creatures atop an arch, ripping a massive emerald from the keystone of it. They, along with the gem, merged with the stone pillars again just as the arch crumbled.

"Tik-Tok!" a metallic voice cried, not much farther away. A familiar roar cried out with it.

He moved his feet as fast as his gears would allow, passing the destroyed arch and around another corner, where the Tin Woodsman and Cowardly Lion were facing two more of the rock creatures. While the Emperor of the Winkies was not a machine as Tik-Tok was, he moved much like one, swinging his axe in swift, strong arcs, yet unable to hit the monster before him.

The sight of the Tin Man using his axe in such a way might have startled Tik-Tok, had he been capable of such an emotion.

"These creatures are the ones turning everyone to stone!" the Tin Man shouted, sparing a quick glance at Tik-Tok as he continued to fight. He raised his axe to deliver what may have been a killing blow. "You must stop them befo--"

The creature reached out.

And the Tin Man, in a mere instant, became a stone man, unmoving and still as the rest of the statues.

There was a slight hiccup in Tik-Tok's gears that prevented him from acting immediately. At the same moment, the Cowardly Lion let out a mournful yowl and raised his paw to swing at the creature before him.

The rock creature touched him, and the lion became a lifeless stone, his great paw still raised in the air.

Remembering his speech-works, Tik-Tok took a step forward, stomping one foot against the ground. "Stop this," he demanded, and the rock creatures turned to him. "You will no long-er hurt an-y more of the peo-ple here."

Growling, both creatures sank into the ground, only to emerge directly in front of Tik-Tok, both of them reaching out with their talons. The stone claws clinked harmlessly against Tik-Tok's copper casing, and he spun his body, striking them both in their heads. With another howl the monsters retreated, melting back into the stone beneath them. Now that they were gone, Tik-Tok could see the stone statues that had once been the Emperor of the Winkies and the King of the Forest.

"Everyone, I think I've found a way to--oh--"

Scrambling steps skidded to a halt somewhere behind him. He could hear these softer sounds, he realized, for the screams had grown more distant. Turning his top half, he saw the Scarecrow standing behind him, his painted gaze turning from one statue to the other.

"I-I'm... I'm too late..." the Scarecrow said, his tall frame sagging.

"Your Ma-jest-y." Tik-Tok clunked a hand against his helmet in a salute. "I am at your ser-vice."

Shaking himself, the Scarecrow stumbled up to him, but his smile did not return--an unusual sight for the ruler. "Right! Tik-Tok, I've found a way to contact Dorothy."

"Dor-o-thy Gale from Kan-sas?" Tik-Tok blinked, adjusting his vision as the King of Oz neared him. He'd heard of this Dorothy and how powerful she was, but his think-works could not work out how a small human girl could be strong enough to destroy not one, but two witches.

"The very same!" The Scarecrow's smile returned, if only for a moment. "But we must hurry!"

"Hur-ry to where--?" Tik-Tok began, but the Scarecrow was already pushing him somewhere.

"It might be too late for me now," the Scarecrow went on. "They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something..." His straw rustled. "I don't know what. But I do know they can't hurt you."

"That is cor-rect. I am not a-live, and ne-ver will be."

"But you can wind down," the Scarecrow added seriously. "And when you do, they can harm you. I need to keep you safe."

Disloyalty was not a command found in Tik-Tok's gears, but he couldn't help but protest: "But I am the Roy-al Ar-my of Oz. It is I who must pro-tect you, Your Ma-je-sty."

"Not right now." The Scarecrow guided him down a narrow alley and stuck a hand into his jacket, fishing for something in his body. "As Ruler of Oz, I command you to turn your protection to Dorothy once she gets here. She'll know how to help us! She's done it before."

A strange request, but Tik-Tok could not argue. "When is she to ar-rive?"

For a moment the Scarecrow faltered, but only a moment as they stopped at the end of the alley. He retrieved a key from within the straw of his body, and stared down at it. "I don't know."

A threatening rumble of stones echoed in the distance behind them, followed by another chorus of screams, and quickly he stuck the key into a hole in the wall. In a moment, the wall swung open, and the Scarecrow urged Tik-Tok inside.

Tik-Tok did as he was instructed, marching into the room and observing it. There was nothing there, however, but dusty walls and a dustier circular window that faint light shone through.

The Scarecrow stooped down, placing a cotton-stuffed hand on Tik-Tok's chest plate. "Stay here, and wait for Dorothy."

The polished gems of Tik-Tok's green eyes stared into the painted blue eyes of the Scarecrow. Though both were man-made, the Scarecrow's face was wrinkled and worn with worry... and an unspoken apology.

"Stay here," he repeated, and hurried out of the room. With a great scraping and a slam, the door shut behind him. The key was pulled from the lock, and through it, Tik-Tok could see the Scarecrow stumbling away.

For lack of anything else to do--other than conserve his gears--Tik-Tok stood perfectly still in the middle of the room.

Echoes of stone crumbling, unfamiliar creatures snarling, and rocks shifting filled the air outside, and the screams were finally silent.

---

"Your Ma-jest-y!"

Tik-Tok's voice echoed slightly in the tiny chamber, but it sounded quite loud compared to the utter silence outside.

Occasionally he could hear squeaks of wheels, and even rarer occasions he could hear the screech of a Wheeler. What they were doing in the Emerald City, he wasn't sure, but his think-works were sure enough that the fact that they had not been turned to stone was not a positive one.

But in the moments he could no longer hear them, he raised his voice:

"Your Ma-jest-y! I be-lieve that some-thing is wrong!"

And he did--something was wrong.

Several days and nights had passed since the Emerald Citizens had turned to stone, judging by the light from the solitary, circular window in the cell. It had been eight days and nights, to be exact, and Tik-Tok had remained still the entire time, hardly willing himself to think other than to observe the time passing. After all, the Scarecrow had commanded that he wait until Dorothy arrived, and he would not want her to have to wind him up too much so shortly after meeting.

But now that it had been over a week...

Tik-Tok could not worry, but he could be aware that things were not going as planned. The Scarecrow had not been sure how long it would take for Dorothy to arrive, but surely he had not expected him to wait this long. He would have said so, if that were the case. While the Scarecrow lacked perfectly-functioning mechanical brains, he did have wonderful brains given to him by the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He was the second-best thinker in Oz, next to Tik-Tok himself.

"Your Ma-jest-y!" Tik-Tok called again. "You must o-pen the door!"

He had tried on his own, but there was no knob--seemingly no way to open the door from within. He had pushed, but it would not give, and Tik-Tok opted to preserve his action.

"I be-lieve I can find this Dor-o-thy on my own, if you o-pen the door!"

Dorothy Gale was in Kansas. And he knew where Kansas was--it was not in Oz. He would have to cross the Deadly Desert, which he was perfectly capable of doing, for its deadly sands could not turn his unliving copper into sand.

"Help me, Your Ma-jest-y, please! Come bac--"

Tic-tic-clunk.

One of the three keys on Tik-Tok's body ceased turning, and his voice-works ceased functioning.

Tik-Tok's voice joined the silence around him.

---

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces toward the door.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces back.

It had been thirty-three days--just over a month since the Scarecrow had left him here.

Alongside the squeaks and cackles of the Wheelers outside, Tik-Tok could occasionally hear the distant sound of a musical instrument--a mandolin. It was not an instrument that could be played by the Wheelers, but to whom it belonged, he could not say, for he could not speak.

But even then, there was still the occasional silence, usually at night. It was then he chose to fill the silence with his pacing, his great feet stomping into the ground beneath him. He did this not because he missed the usual cheerful noise of the Emerald City, for he could not miss anything, but to keep his gears from rusting and keep the dust out. Even though each step he took wound his action down slightly more, it would at least prevent him from locking up entirely, even if he should be wound up.

He hoped Dorothy would be here soon.

But at this point, he was no longer sure what "soon" was. A month ago, he had estimated that she would arrive within days, if not hours, and that the matter would be resolved quickly. Now, however...

The Scarecrow had indeed admitted that he hadn't known when Dorothy would arrive. But surely, surely he would have been wise enough to send for her quickly, or to ask her to arrive swiftly.

Tik-Tok paused.

They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something...

...If he'd asked her at all.

His think-works must have gotten dust into them--he had not once considered that the Scarecrow could have been captured before he was able to summon Dorothy. If that were the case, then what was he to do?

He could not continue to wait for her--he must try to open the door on his own.

Tik-Tok turned himself around to face the door, and took one step closer.

Tic-tic-clunk.

And now he could not move, except to turn his head and blink. The rest of his body remained as still as the statues outside.

---

Ninety-two sunrises. Ninety-three sunsets.

He had watched the sun rise and set through the window. He had heard the Wheelers shriek to each other every day, and heard them racing throughout the town.

Every so often he allowed himself to blink to clear the dust from his eyes, so he could continue to observe the passage of time.

Sometimes he heard voices--not the ones of Wheelers. Sometimes it was a soft-spoken voice he'd never heard before, other times a harsher, snarling one that had a great wickedness to it. Other times he would hear familiar voices, ones he'd heard around the city before. He would wonder, in those moments, if things were going back to normal, if someone would open the door, if he would be wound up soon, but then he wouldn't hear the voice again for some time.

---

Ninety-nine sunrises. Ninety-eight sunsets.

...No, one hundred. One hundred sunsets, for he'd been let in here during the day.

He allowed his head a short shake--he had to keep track of time. He had to watch the light.

At one point he heard a soft, gravelly voice within the city, followed by a short discussion that he could not make out, for the Wheelers laughed and howled all the while. Still he strained his aural gears--linked to his think-works--to try to make out anything that would be helpful.

"...has not escaped..."

"...no sign of anything..."

"...has not spoken--"

There was a great crash, followed by shrieks of laughter from the Wheelers, and another voice shouting at them.

Who was it who had not escaped? Had they been discussing him? Or perhaps the Scarecrow? Or... had they captured...

...someone...

...there was someone he was waiting for. What was her name?

No, it didn't matter. Forcibly he slowed his think-works, only allowing them to sense the change of day and night.

---

One hundred and twenty-one sunrises. One hundred and twenty-twenty sunsets.

The room was very dusty, and he could no longer turn his head. He blinked again to clear his vision.

There was shrieking outside, but he couldn't remember why. He almost raised his voice to demand who they were, but he had no voice to do such.

But he was smart. He understood things. He was a machine. He knew why he was here.

He was here to wait. But to wait for what? He couldn't remember.

What was he counting for?

---

One hundred two hundred five hundred-ed-ed two.

Scarecrows and Wheelers, rocks and statues, girls and ladies and rooms.

A scream outside! He could not scream. Where was outside? Where was he? Was it light or dark?

What is light for anyway? He forgot. His eyes could not open and he could not see. What did he have to see? Who knew?

Statues and stones, silence and screams.

Never never never never never coming back.

Taken here, went away, left forever and ever.

Ever, ever, ever, turn turn turn, wind wind wind.

Tick-tick-tick.

Tic... tic...

Clunk.

Chapter 3: On a Whim

"...peaugh!"

"Oh! Don't yell at me like that, please! I'm not deaf."

He paused, taking a moment to consider the fact that he existed.

There he stood in a dusty, dull room, with walls and windows and other things that seemed to be full of... holes, as though they were missing something. He wasn't sure what. In fact, he didn't quite know what he was, other than that he was taller than everyone else around him. Everyone else, that is, being... a very angry-looking woman in a very pointy dress, and a much shorter girl, a little over half his own height. The former was holding a tin can of a sort with a label that he couldn't read, and she stared down at, her rage giving way to amazement.

"It... it worked!" she cried, still far too loud for his own ears. (Did he have ears?) "It worked! Hah, that magician didn't fool me after all!"

"You're still yelling!" Wincing away from her, he suddenly felt his balance shift, and he began to topple. "W-woah...!"

Quickly the shorter girl stepped forward, catching him before he crashed. "Be careful," she said, her voice wonderfully soft and far more pleasant than the other person's. "I'm afraid I didn't build you to move, since I didn't know you would be... alive, later." She set him back upright, bracing him back against the wall he'd been standing against moments ago.

"You made me?" he repeated, holding one wooden hand against her shoulder until he was certain he was steady. "How did you do that?"

"I just put some wood and a pumpkin together, and dressed you." The girl stole a glance at the older woman, who was muttering to herself as she looked over the can. "And then I stood you here, against the wall."

He tipped his head, which, it seemed, was quite large. "What for?"

The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice. "To scare the witch, there, Mombi." She looked pointedly at the woman and then back at him. "I stood you in a place here, where you would meet Mombi face-to-face. She was scared... but then she was angry. She nearly destroyed you with a stick."

Shuddering, he cast another fearful glance at Mombi, who was hurrying away. He wasn't entirely sure what "destroyed" meant, but he didn't like the sound of it. "Sh-she did?"

"Yes, but then she decided to test that Powder of Life on you. She sprinkled it on, and... you came to life."

"I'm very glad for that," he remarked. "I quite like being alive."

The girl smiled up at him, and he decided he quite liked that, too. "I like your being alive, as well."

"We're agreed, then!" He tipped his head another way. "Do you... have a name?"

"Ozma," she said quickly, and stole another glance in the direction that Mombi had walked off to. "But that's not important."

"Do I have a name?"

At that, Ozma looked down, her face turning a slightly pink shade. "Yes... Jack. Jack Pumpkinhead. I might have given you a better name, if I'd known..."

"Jack Pumpkinhead," he repeated, then nodded. "Yes, I like that. And... you made me?"

"Yes I did, Jack."

"Does that make you my mom?"

Ozma took a step back, as though caught off-balance, as he had been before, and he held out a hand to steady her. But she smiled, putting her hand over his. "I suppose so. You may call me 'Mom' if you wish."

Though uncertain why, he felt the name brought a great deal of comfort to him, and it pleased him to say it. "Okay, Mom."

"You! What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice snapped.

Both Jack and Ozma turned to face the new person, and Jack did so quickly enough to throw him off-balance once again, so his mother had to grab hold of him to keep him upright. The new person was another woman, who wore a strikingly similar dress to the one the witch had worn moments ago. If he didn't know better (which, he didn’t know much), Jack would think it was the very same dress.

"I was only talking with Jack, Mombi," Ozma replied, and Jack looked down at her in surprise.

"Mombi? I thought you said that other woman was Mombi."

"She is, but she has different heads. She's wearing head twenty-two right now." Ozma paused. "Her original is..."

"Head thirty-one," Mombi snapped quickly. "And just what do you think--"

"Where does one acquire different heads?" Jack interrupted, not keen on listening to Mombi's grating voice.

At that, Ozma gently pulled him away from the wall, helping him walk across the dusty floor. Walking was a new activity, and he found it did not come naturally to him, his long, thin legs wobbling all the while, but his mother kept him steady as she brought him to the window. Outside was a desolate gray place, with ruined buildings and walls and statues all about. In one spot, he could see a group of statues dancing, but without heads. "See there," his mother said, pointing at the group. "That's where she got them. Some of them, anyway."

Jack stared down at the statues, not fully understanding, but nodded nonetheless. "What a lot I'm learning today!"

"Enough of this!" Mombi snarled, suddenly between them. "What's the meaning of this? You're not seriously growing attached to this stupid pumpkinhead you made, are you?"

"I should hope so," Jack protested before his mother could reply. "She's my mom, after all."

"She's your--?!" Mombi looked from Jack to Ozma a few times before settling a glare on Ozma. "No, I won't allow it."

Jack stiffened. "What? Won't allow what?"

"It won't hurt anything," Ozma protested quickly, taking a step closer to Jack. "I can watch over him, and--"

"I told you you were never to talk to others like that!" Mombi snarled, and grabbed Ozma by the wrist.

"L-let her go!" Jack cried in protest, reaching out to pull Ozma away.

Mombi yanked her out of his reach, but otherwise ignored him, glaring down at the girl. "You know what I told you. Never speak to another person, never communicate with them--you are never to make yourself known to another person, ever. Not even your name!"

Had Jack not been so frightened in that moment, he would have thought it strange that his mother had, indeed, told him her name.

"Let me go!" Ozma shouted, pulling herself against Mombi, but the witch only growled at her, tugging her away and hurrying down the hall.

"Wait, no, Mom!" Jack cried. Shakily he moved to follow them, but without his mom's support, his body toppled and crashed to the floor with a great wooden clatter. No pain came with it--though he wasn't entirely sure what pain should feel like to begin with--but he did feel his wooden joints start to jostle loose. He tried to move his limbs in a way to crawl after them, but only succeeded in scrambling uselessly on the dusty floor.

"I'll be all right, Jack!" Ozma called out to him as Mombi carried her down a corner and out of sight. "I'll get us help!"

"You most certainly will not!" Mombi growled, her voice reaching a rather terrifyingly low pitch. Before Ozma could say anything in reply, there was an explosively loud KRACK-OW that rang throughout the palace, and within Jack's hollow head. Something about the sound filled him with terror, and he threw his hands over his eyes, wailing.

Only moments later everything was still, and Mombi gave a satisfied humph before her footsteps came back down the hallway. Jack shakily raised his head, only for his wooden body to seize up in fear. "Wh-where's Mom?"

Mombi did not answer, only marching up to him and regarding him with an expression he could not read (or see, for from his current angle he could only see the train of her dress, and it was hard to tip his head up further).

"Excuse me, Miss Mombi," he said, trying to push himself upright, "Where is my mom? That noise was very loud, and I-I'm worried about her."

Without a word, Mombi suddenly stooped down, grabbed Jack's left wrist much in the way she had Ozma's, and yanked.

"Oh!' Jack cried, immediately hating the pull on his arm, and even more the way it made his legs drag. He fought to put his feet beneath him, but Mombi did not wait, dragging him in the opposite direction she'd taken Ozma. "W-wait! I'm not standing yet!" He scrambled his legs, fighting to right himself, but Mombi was moving too quickly for him to do so. Then, realizing what direction they were taking, he fought all the more to get to his feet. "W-we're going the wrong way! This isn't where you took my mom!"

Still Mombi remained silent, hauling him down the hallway and finally toward a great spiraling stairwell, which she wasted no time in storming up, taking no mind for the way Jack's feet kicked and dragged behind them.

"Wait, no! P-please, let me get to my f-feet!" he whimpered. When she still would not answer, he looked back down the stairs. "I-I miss my mom. She liked answering my questions. C-could you please take me back to her?"

At one point Jack's right foot caught badly on a step, momentarily trapping him and causing Mombi to stumble. She braced herself against the wall before she fell, and turned to glare at him.

Jack didn't understand why she was so angry, but he took the opportunity to finally get his feet beneath him. His right leg, however, felt wrong--it was loose at the knee joint, and that worried him. "Miss Mombi, when we get to the top of this place, c-could you please bring my mom back, so she can--"

And again Mombi resumed mounting the steps, barely giving Jack time to match her pace. To his alarm, he found he couldn't, for her body was not built as awkwardly as his was, and once again his legs gave way beneath him.

While Jack had decided he did not much like shouting, he couldn't help himself: "PLEASE!" he cried over the clatter of his legs banging against the stairs. "I'm going to come apart!"

But at that moment, his legs finally stopped banging against things, for they had reached the top of the stairs. Here Mombi paused again, and Jack was finally able to get his legs beneath him, though his right one was wobbling terribly. "A-are we done moving around, Miss Mombi?" he stammered.

Now Mombi threw the door open, and once again began dragging him, though he fought to walk along with her, even as he felt the ropes that held his right leg together loosen further. He barely had time to look about the room around him, which was full of a lot of very, very dusty things. Mombi dragged him a short distance, then with a great amount of force, threw him into a corner.

Jack cried out as his wooden back slammed against an old sofa, jarring his whole frame terribly and nearly knocking his head off. Dazed, he reached up to touch his head, only to find that his left hand was missing--it had fallen off entirely, lying on the ground next to him. Turning his head, he found the same fate had befallen his right leg, which was lying a short distance from his body. "Wh-what was that for?" he whimpered. "You haven't told me why you're so angry with me, much less said anythi--"

In a moment Mombi was storming toward him, her eyes wide with anger, and at once he wished he hadn't spoken at all. "Shut up, you worthless pile of firewood!" she snarled, leaning down into his face. "You existed only so I could test my Powder of Life on you, and nothing more, and I can very well take that life away."

"NO!" he wailed, kicking his remaining leg to push himself further backwards. "Please don't do that!"

She pointed a finger in his face, and he stilled. "When I come up here again," she said lowly, "I'll chop up your stupid smiling head and make a pie of it, assuming it doesn't spoil first, and that will be that for you."

With that, she spun around and left the room, pausing only to give him one last glare before shutting the door.

Jack remained very still for some time, until an irritating clattering noise made him realize he was trembling.

"Th-this... has been quite an existence," he finally said, once he was quite sure Mombi could not hear him. "I wish I knew what I've done wrong..."

Remembering what the witch had told him, he decided that while he wasn't quite sure what a pie was, he would very much like to leave here before Mombi returned to show him. Bracing his hand against the floor, he tried to raise himself up, only to remember that he could not stand on one leg. He would have to tie it back on, if he could.

He tried to reach for the detached leg, and realized another problem--one of his hands was missing, and since it wasn't attached, he could not move it. He strained to reach for it for several minutes, but it occurred to him he had no way of tying it back on. While he was quite sure he could figure out how tying things worked (he could see the method his mother had used when he observed his own joints), he could not do it with only one hand. He needed use of both limbs in order to tie his missing limb back together.

As it was, he could only sit in that corner, his back against a sofa, his missing parts just barely out of reach.

"...I miss my mom," he said quietly, bowing his head.

She had told him that she would get help, so maybe she would be here later. He hoped she would... he did not like his body being broken like this, and not being able to move, and he wasn't sure when Mombi would come back.

And so he waited, sitting there in the stillness of the dusty room. Part of him wanted to call for Ozma, for he wasn't certain she knew where he was... if she was anywhere. (Mombi was a witch, after all, and that sound he'd heard... had she used magic on his mother? Magic was what brought him to life, but what if it could be used to take someone away, too...? What if she had become a statue, like the ones outside?) The thought, however, of Mombi hearing him kept him quiet.

But... Ozma had said she would get help. She had to. She had to.

She had to.

He kept that thought, repeating it in his mind... until he realized that it was very dark in the room, and growing darker. Something within him--the magic, he supposed, or perhaps the seeds in his head giving him basic knowledge--told him that this was night, and that the outside world alternated between the light of day and dark of night. Even so, the darkness chilled him--it was getting to the point where he could hardly see. What if Mombi came back, and he couldn't even tell?

Forgetting his fear of alerting the witch, he raised his voice again: "Mom!" he cried. "Mom, where are you?! I-it's dark here!"

But his voice only echoed slightly in the crowded room, and he heard no other sounds.

His fear left him undeterred. "Mom, have you found help yet? I-I want to get out of here!"

There was still no answer, other than a quiet wind from outside.

"Mom..." he whimpered, and finally fell silent.

Maybe his mom wasn't coming back after all.

Epilogue: On a Hope

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

The thought jumped into Tik-Tok's head, in the midst of the blankness of non-functionality:

How long has it been now?

He'd lost track of time, he realized. This was not good--something had clearly gone wrong with his mechanisms. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were still too heavy.

"Huh. I wonder what he's thinkin' about."

The unfamiliar voice echoed in the room, but with his eyes still firmly shut, he could not tell whom it belonged to.

"I'll wind up his speech," came a softer voice, "and maybe he can tell us."

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

His head turned slightly, suddenly able to, and his eyelids finally lifted.

"Maybe he can tell us what happened to the Emerald City."

Blinking once, twice, to clear the dust from his emerald eyes, Tik-Tok began to stammer as his speech-works came back to him: "I--you--uh--come back--Your Ma--"

A young girl with dark hair in twin braids stood before him, regarding him with awe.

"...Good mor-ning, lit-tle girl."

---

It had been a long time--Jack couldn't be sure how long, though, since he'd stopped counting. The thought of how many days it had been since he'd last seen his mother only made him...

He put his hand over his chest, where he felt the sadness the most, and wondered if that was what pain was.

He only had a little dust on him, though--not nearly as much as the things all around him. The giant head above him, the plants, the portraits, and all the other things--he'd taken the time to look at them all, for lack of anything else to do. He'd stopped calling for his mom, too--it felt pointless.

And then the door opened.

At once he threw himself back, his head hitting the couch behind him. He scrambled with his leg, at first, and then decided staying still was better, staying quiet was better. If Mombi couldn't hear him, maybe she would forget about him.

But Mombi didn't come into the room. Instead he heard soft footsteps, as well as two voices. One was harsh and grating... but the other was... soft. Soft and... comforting.

Just before him, he could see a young girl staring at some portraits on the wall. A young girl... that was about half his height.

"...Mom?"

---

"...peaugh!"

"Peaugh?!"

"That's it!"

He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Why wasn't it daytime? And... this didn't look like the forest. It looked... nothing like the forest. That was odd.

There were also a couple other people around him, both of them quite excited. One was a tall man that he was pretty sure wasn't a normal Ozian, and the other was a little girl.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to turn his head and finding it oddly difficult, so he swiveled his ears instead. "Where am I?"

"Getting out of here, I hope!" the tall man exclaimed.

"Jack's right," the girl replied. "We're in the palace, but we need to get out of here."

That didn't answer much.

Feeling the need to stretch his limbs, he did so, only to find them... a great deal shorter than they should be. And more numerous. He didn't recall having more than four feet in anything other than height.

Normally he quite liked looking at his reflection, but at the moment, he felt grateful that there was no pond nearby.

The girl was suddenly in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "You're gonna help us escape, okay?"

While not in pain, he felt... out of sorts. Even so, there was something about this girl that he felt drawn to... not that he was in any position to argue, anyway.

"Okay, I guess so."

The girl smiled, and he felt a bit better.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but whatever happened, he was pretty sure he could trust this strange girl.

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter Four

For my @dukethomasbigbang fic, we have the third prank, and fourth chapter! I hope y'all like it! Yet again a huge thanks to betas @queerbutstillhere & @theycallme-ook

Summary:

Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement.

Read on Ao3

Ah, Cheerios, the best kind of breakfast cereal. Duke just didn’t get why people seemed to hate them so much. They weren’t bland, they just had a nice even subtle oat flavor which was refreshing compared to all the intensely sweet sugary crap that Dick kept attempting to sneak in past Alfred. And they were so delicious with milk! Of course, they were also fantastic when you added things to them as well, like a light drizzle of honey, or a small handful of granola. If you were feeling especially adventurous - or if Damian was the one to go shopping with Alfred and therefore got the choice in what was bought that week - you could even have it with some unsweetened vanilla oat milk.

“But does that count as a subset of cannibalism?” Duke wondered aloud between bites of cereal.

He took another bite thoughtfully and hopped down from the island in the middle of the kitchen to make his way out the door and down the hall. Alfred was away for the weekend (Tim had mentioned something about regaining his honor in a pie baking duel with Ma Kent? Duke wasn’t sure.) so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Not that he ever got in trouble. For some reason.

Duke angrily crunched down on another spoonful when a sudden banging around came from the ceiling above him. Duke froze, suddenly terrified. What was it? Aliens? Did Alfred (The Cat) finally figure out how to phase through walls? Were some of the skeletons (which Jason had warned Duke he stored in the drywall) finally reanimate and were slowly crawling out, in a slow determined quest for revenge?

As the opening to the air vent just a few feet ahead banged open, releasing a lone figure, Duke was dismayed to find it was not, in fact, some fantastical being or occurrence.

It was just Steph.

Duke quickly finished eating the spoonful of Cheerios and chewed as he waved a greeting with his spoon.

Stephanie, who was completely covered in glitter and carrying a feather duster, glared daggers at Duke and slowly, methodically, drew the duster across her throat.

Duke swallowed heavily and cringed. Ah, it probably would be in his best interest to avoid blaming the purple clothed bandit for any of his pranks in the future.

*****

For the second time that day, Duke found himself in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Though this time, instead of pondering the moral and psychological repercussions of eating his cereal with oat milk, the teen was having a pre workout snack with his younger brother.

“Add more whipped cream, Thomas,” Damian advised, passing Duke the can. “Dairy is protein, and protein is essential to proper nutrition.”

Duke took the can with a grin, and added a more generous than necessary squirt to the top.

“Alright Dami,” Duke said as he set aside the can, “But you need to be sure to add more than one cherry. Fruit is good for you, you know.”

Damian sniffed superiorly and delicately pulled out three maraschino cherries from the fancy jar than Alfred kept in the pantry. He then placed them precariously on top of the summet of his ice cream sundae mountain.

Duke held up his spoon in front of Damian. “Shall we dig in?”

Damian grinned - a rare occurrence which took the years off of his face, allowing him to truly look like a child. Duke quietly celebrated, ever since he first saw Damian smile at him, he had made it his mission to make his younger brother happier more often.

They clinked their spoons together, and dug into their huge deserts. It was a good thing that Alfred wasn’t home at the moment, or the old Butler would have an aneurysm at the amount of sugar they were putting into their bodies. But oh well, they deserved it for the training session that they’d be taking part in later that afternoon.

It wasn’t often that Bruce had enough time to do a full workout session with any of his kids, let alone something smaller like a one on one thing, or him and a few others. Duke had only gotten this privilege during his first year of staying with the Waynes, and at the time, when he was futilely trying to kick down trees in the yard, he hadn’t understood why such a thing was coveted by his siblings.

But now he did, so he completely understood Damian’s excitement when the thirteen year old had animatedly informed him that because all the others were gone from the city that day, only he and Duke would be present for the training session. So of course Duke suggested making a special treat in preparation.

They were at the very bottom of their large bowls of ice cream when Bruce walked into the kitchen carrying his large jug of water.

“Are you boys ready for today?” Bruce asked, and Duke and Damian grinned.

“Of course, Father. We have been preparing extensively for the past half hour.”

Bruce eyed the empty bowls in front of each of his sons, and grunted. “And sprinkles helped you do that?”

Duke scoffed. “Of course, B. Didn't you know that?”

Bruce looked skeptical, so Damian butted in. “Father, Pennyworth is always informing you to eat your colors. You americans eat such bland food, all tans and grays. Surely compact fluorescent bites are the best way to remedy such a problem.”

Bruce squinted, but didn’t seem in the mood to argue, so he turned around and began to leave the kitchen. “Just be in my study in twenty minutes.”

Behind him, Duke offered a fist bump to his partner in crime. Damian accepted with a smirk.

*****

“Please tell me I’m not late!” Duke exclaimed as he rushed into Bruce’s study.

Bruce and Damian were over by the clock, looking as if they were about to input the time. Duke heaved a sigh of relief at that. Being late to a training session was a mortal sin in the Manor. Or at least, that’s what Jason told him. He said it was the reason he had died (something about Bruce kicking him out, which made him go to Ethiopia for some money an old rich uncle of his had left him, and then the Joker catching wind and tried to rob him, which somehow ended in with him, a warehouse, and a crow bar).

Suffice it to say, Duke made it his mission to never be late to a training session. Ever.

“Tt, Thomas,” Damian remarked, turning back to the clock. “You were cutting it close.”

Bruce sighed. “You’re fine Duke.”

Duke nodded and took his place right behind Damian. The boy huffed in a satisfied manner and crossed his arms.

“Any day now, Father. Unlike you, my time is precious.”

Translation: Damian was excited, and tired of waiting.

Bruce frowned as he spun the arms of the clock again. “The clock is broken.”

Duke raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s really just a door, right?”

Bruce frowned back at the face of the grandfather clock, not bothered by Duke’s incredibly funny remark.

A few seconds later, Duke tried again. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

Bruce’s eyes were narrowed to slits by now, and his brow furrowed in concentration. “The entrance is malfunctioning. I want you boys to go around and check the others. Including Stephanie’s smuggling tunnel.”

Duke blinked. “Stephanie’s what now?”

Bruce made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Yes, I know about that. Now go.”

Duke and Damian looked at each other, shrugged, then left the room. Might as well do what Bruce says. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could work out. Plus they were sort of curious to know what was going on. Neither of them knew, they were innocent! Especially Duke.

Fifteen minutes later, and the trio reconvened in the study once more. Bruce looked angry, Duke looked confused, and Damian was positively fuming.

“This is outrageous!” He cried, as soon as he entered after Duke. “None of the entrances are working! I even attempted to use imaginative means to enter, and nothing worked!”

Bruce’s grim look receded for just a moment. “I’ll let Barbara know she did a wonderful job shoring up the security if even my children can’t get in.”

Damian scowled. “What’s the point of making security that we can’t get into?”

Bruce closed his eyes for three long, tired seconds.

“Anyway!” Duke said, “They aren’t allowing access. Any theories? Or should we just get Tim?”

Damian looked appalled at the idea. “Father!” he cried, “you can’t call Timothy! He will be unable to operate at maximum capacity if he does not complete the weekend of so-called relaxation with the clone at the Kents’ farm.”

“So second best option?” Duke asked.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t let Barbara hear that when she gets here.”

*****

“Hhmmmm.”

Duke, Bruce, and Damian cringed in unison at Barbara’s contemplative noise. The young woman was typing on a laptop plugged into some kind of control panel in Bruce’s office. She hadn’t spoken to them more than first greetings  when she had arrived, so they were left in the dark while she rifled through the Cave’s security system.

Finally, Babs closed the computer and set it to the side. Duke and the others held their collective breath.

“The Cave is registering you as already present inside,” Barbara explained, “Actually, it says that everyone is in the Cave right now.”

Bruce was still and silent, considering Barbara’s words. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to be an inch away from having a meltdown.

“This is preposterous!” He blustered, whipping about and glaring, not having any particular target. “The system is trash, I said we should have fixed it ages ago! And now look at the outcome! I must remain at peak physical capacity, and I am not able to if I miss even a single session! Father, I demand you fix this!”

“Woah, dude, chill,” Duke soothed, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Thankfully, the kid didn’t bite him. “I know you're frustrated, but we work more effectively when calm, right?”

Damian blinked, and glared at Duke for a long moment. “You are not incorrect, Thomas.” Damian finally allowed, turning away.

Barbara smiled. “Well, good news: I can get you in. It’s probably a good idea to call for back-up and wait till you have the forces to-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bruce interrupted, his eye twitching at the glare Babs threw his way. “We can handle it - right, boys?”

Damian sniffed proudly and produced some knives from who knows where. Duke nodded confidently.

Bruce grunted, and motioned for them to fall in line behind him. Barbara watched with her precise gaze as Bruce, Duke, and Damian made their way down the stairs. They didn’t turn the lights on, going for optimal stealth as were, and moved slowly downward.

“Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious,” Duke sang under his breath a little ways after the halfway point down the stairs.

“Making noise is very suspicious, Thomas.” Damian muttered.

“Quiet, Boys,” Bruce snapped before Duke could make a comeback, “We’re almost there.”

As soon as the doors to the Cave opened, they scattered and melted into the shadows. Duke just managed to see Damian crawl up the side of the cave wall, but didn’t see where Bruce went. He didn’t have much time to worry about that, though, as he was hiding himself among equipment that lined the sides of the space.

The path he had chosen gave him an easy pass to circle the main platform, and gage the situation. And boy was it a situation. Because, you see, like Barbara said, they were not the only ones in the cave. They were just the only sentient ones.

The elevator dinged, and Barbara rolled out and into the light. “Are those Manikins?” She asked, incredulous.

*****

Duke smirked proudly at the sight before him, the same sight that left the others outraged and confused

Someone, somehow (It was Duke, and through much hard labour during some time while the bats were actually asleep - he got someone to cover his patrol, this bright young girl called Maps to do it. She said she was a friend of Damian’s, and quite skilled with a grappling hook. Tim had mentioned her before, so Duke wasn’t surprised.) managed to get dozens of manikins - those hyper mobile ones that you can personalise their positions - and spread them out across the cave.  And not just that, they had managed to stylize them after each member of the family.

The manikins also seemed to be moving around at preset speeds, through some mysterious robotic means (Duke mentally thanked the stars that Bruce didn’t bat an eye at someone purchasing thirty roombas with his credit card.).

The first manikin, the one that caught everyone’s eye, was clearly meant to represent Stephanie. It was doused in complete purple, the exact shade of her suit and automated to throw the glitter bombs stored in a sack by its side at seemingly everything - though apparently mainly at the nearest authority figure.

Said authority figure was obviously Bruce, who was moving slowly in wide arcs around the chaos. It was wearing one of those ghost costumes, (you know the ones with just a sheet and cut out holes? Yeah, that’s Bruce.) except with a black sheet. And two plastic forks taped to either side of the head to imitate Bat ears. Though by this point it was also covered in purple glitter, thanks to Steph.

Somehow, the figure right next to Bruce was completely untouched by the purple sparkles, despite wearing the exact same outfit as Bruce’s manikin, plastic forks and all. (Although to be fair, this one was significantly shorter.) Though this mystery could easily be solved by the fact that it was Cass. Well, that explains pretty much everything, actually.

Nearest to Bruce and his mini-me at that point in the rotation was a toddler sized, bright green manikin that represented none other than the current Robin. And if that weren’t enough, think of Edward Scissor Hands. Now imagine those knives and blades and such taped over the whole body. Now you have an accurate picture of Damian Wayne in Manikin form. Honestly, it wasn’t that far off.

Humans weren’t the only things replaced in the Cave, as just by Damian were little dog, cat, and cow statues. And a giant bat stuffie colored red.

Bruce’s manikin had to stop it’s wide arc and jerk suddenly to the side to avoid the next member of the family. Tim Drake’s stand-in was barely visible underneath the six foot tall pile of bulk coffee bean bags stacked around it.

Right behind Tim was a large manikin painted blood red, wearing a faux pink leather jacket with sparkles and rhinestones glued it. It looked like it was meant for a six year old girl. What didn’t look like it was meant for a child, though, were the strips of ammunition draped across its shoulders like a fancy scarf. The look was completed by a large red bucket dumped haphazardly over the head of the manikin.

To the side of the Cave, just barely out of the war path that was The Red Bucket, was something different. Instead of a manikin like you would find in the clothing store, a halloween decoration was set up. And not just any decoration: A life-sized recreation of Dracula that looked so cheap, it was probably bought at Party City for ten bucks. (Hey, it was on sale! Duke wasn’t one to ignore such a spectacular bargain!). The only thing customized about it was the cheap, long, cherry red wig perched precariously on its head. Hey, everyone always said Kate looked an awful lot like a vampire!

The simplest manikin was somehow one of the most recognizable. Painted plain white, it was mostly unadorned with the exception of “007” painted across the chest in big, black, block letters. Now who could that be? It wasn’t like the Bats casually knew a british spy.

But all of that is fairly sane, compared to the … others.

In one corner of the room, a manikin was on fire. Completely on fire. The blaze was huge. Somehow, the manikin itself wasn’t on fire, though. One got the impression that it was supposed to be reminiscent of the burning bush story, or perhaps a phoenix. Ha, phoenix. Flamebird. Duke hoped he wasn’t the only one who found that funny.

Dick’s was on a complicated zip line pulley type system thingy. It was upside down and twisted into a pretzel for a bit, then it reached a checkpoint and was replaced by a new “Dick” in a different position. It looks like Dick’s doing mid air acrobatics. Oh, and he’s wearing a crop top that said “I’m A Dick.”

There was yet another all-green manikin seated on a hover chair that looked suspiciously like alien tech taken from the Watchtower. There was a face drawn on, and it was emulating the Oracle Symbol.

Hidden amongst the shadows in the corner was another manikin, barely within sight. It was resting luxuriously in a clawfoot bathtub, which was filled with jewels of all kinds. Upon its shoulders were multiple cat stuffed animals.

Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement, the one that is easily the most terrifying. The one that is undoubtedly the Taser Girl herself: Harper Row.

What made this one different? Well, that’s because Harper was not, in fact, a manikin. Instead, the figure was not unlike a stick figure made completely out of metal pipes. The bottom was attached to an encased roomba which was currently going in wide, swooping arcs. The arms are raised triumphantly overhead. (Duke may or may not have spent three hours in front of the Hellmo meme, making sure that it was perfect). And, of course, it was conducting bright blue crackling electricity. (Duke had gotten the idea from one of those science experiment things that is made of lightning, and will every so often shoot a bolt and light something on fire. Minus the fire part. He didn’t have a death wish .)

It was just then that some lightning arced out and set an extra manikin that had been lying about on fire.

Duke cringed internally, but his mood wasn’t dampened for long. He took one look at the other Bats present, and muffled a snort of amusement. They were positively shocked - even Babs! That in and of itself was an utter victory for Duke. It got even better when they slowly separated and began to wander the Cave in wonder and horror. Duke split off as well, and hid behind the Dinosaur.

He almost tripped, however, on one of the babies. Yeah, Babies. Around the legs of the dinosaur, on their own roombas, were inflatable versions of the giant T-Rex. Somehow (maaaaybe with a touch of fiddling with controls), they were even faster than the moving people. They were zipping around and crashing into each other. When Duke hit one, though, it activated a system he had put in place which suddenly unleashed a gigantic roar throughout the Cave via the soundsystem.

The Dinosaurs weren’t the only extra addition to the native wildlife, though. Bats, hundreds of them, were replaced with stuffed animal versions of themselves, and painstakingly hung from string to the stalactites at the top of the cave, like a giant mobile.

Duke peaked out from the side of the wide space where he had been inspecting his own work to gage the situation with the other members of his family. The shock seemed to have worn off by that point, replaced with mixed reactions. Bruce was growing increasingly frustrated, Babs was trying not to laugh, and Damian was secretly pleased, enjoying the look on his father’s face.

Duke chuckled to himself as he went back to looking around in the nooks and crannies where smaller details - like the glow sticks representing glow worms - are set up. He had to admit, when he had set all of this up in two-days-without-sleep haze, he hadn’t actually been sure if it actually looked good. Two minutes later, and Duke was absolutely sure that this was in the top fifteen best Bat-Pranks, He’d have to petition for it to be added at the next meeting.

A sudden clamor came from the Batcomputer, and Duke grinned before practically skipping over to see what was the matter. This will be fun, he thought.

Upon his arrival, he knew it was true.

“Holy shit!” He crowed joyfully upon catching sight of the one manikin that had been missing earlier: his own.

Duke’s manikin was draped in gold curtains - clearly from the South Wing’s Music Room - to look like a toga, and sitting on a throne. Literally. (Bruce just had one lying about in the Attic) The throne rested on a huge platform covered in jewels (also taken from the treasure chest in the Attic). A light setup in the crannies of the Cave’s ceiling shot out beams of ‘disco’ light. Thin black vales hang from the ceiling to give the ominous feel of shadows. And, in case there was any confusion, a golden plaque rests at the base, and is engraved with the words “The Duke of Gotham. Bow Before Your Ruler.”

It’s beautiful, Duke thought ecstatically, so much better than I could have ever dreamed!

He promptly burst into laughter.

Bruce growled in frustration. “This is not funny, Duke.”

“I dunno, B,” Duke shrugged, “I sure think it is!”

“It is not. This is a defacement of the cave, plain and simple. And a poor use of resources to boot. This space is supposed to be efficient, a place that aids in the mission - and are those my Great Aunt Matilda’s emeralds?”

Duke shrugged again as Bruce was set off onto an even longer rant about wasting everyone’s time and abilities since they were going to have to clean it all up. Duke was mostly tuning Bruce out by that point.

“-if you are being flattered by the prankster, that is a clear sign of them trying to get you on their side.”

Duke froze and did a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t train you to be so easily manipulated.”

Duke coughed. “Uh, I think you got this mixed up, B. See that? That’s me on the throne. Clearly this whole prank was organized by me.”

Bruce stared at Duke for a solid three seconds. Babs was covering her mouth to avoid a giggling fit, or maybe just out of shock. Damian was frowning at Duke.

Bruce’s right eye twitched. “Duke, no need to be sarcastic.”

Duke opened his mouth to argue some more, to explain just how wrong Bruce was, when said Dark Knight whipped around and stalked towards the elevator. He froze, though, when he stepped in front of Damian.

There wasn’t even a moment's pause before Bruce was glaring down at his youngest son with resigned, tired eyes. “Damian, how many times have I told you that more knives are not better? You gave yourself away.”

Damian screeched in indignation, and raced to follow Bruce out, demanding for Bruce to see reason.

“Father, you are being ridiculous!”

But his cries were quickly silenced by the closing of the elevator doors, leaving just Duke and Barbara in the Bat Cave.

Babs pivoted to look to Duke and shrugged. “Sorry kid, but he’s just stubborn.”

Duke blinked in confusion as she wheeled away. Had she always known? Scratch that - she was Oracle. Of course Barbara knew.

Duke collapsed at the foot of his throne, and put his head in his hands. Next time, he promised himself, no one else is gonna be there. No one else can take the credit.

*****

“He’s really trying, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this will be fun to watch.”

“Yes.”

“Should we just tell Bruce and be over with it?”

“…”

“Yes, you’re right Cass. We wait and watch.”

[a-lonely-tatertot]

(Unlocked spoilers; poorly written everything. I am finding out that writing people interacting is very much not my strong suit.)

“Sooo...” Tam mumbles, stirring his sugar-coffee with his spoon. “How has your day been?”

It’s been seven hours since Keefe finished the mental excersizes with Tiergan. However, the odd novelty of being asked out via Linh is still fresh- not that this is anything more than an odd frenemy-friendship-date, Keefe has to remind himself. Still though... what a way to find out Tam was severly lacking in the social department.

Keefe shrugs. He knows he should probably answer with his voice to make things less awkward, but there are at least thirty people in this small building and accidentally entrancing them all does not sound ideal.

Tam nods slowly, eyes still glued to his coffee. “Cool.”

Keefe reaches for the notepad in front of him, taking ahold of his pen as well. He’s aware of Tam’s eyes on him as he scribbles down his question before shoving the paper across the table.

It takes Tam a moment to read it; his eyebrows crunch together as he attempts to discern the letters. “Uh,” he says, sliding the note back, “I mean it’s not like I’m going to sleep anyways?” He’s the one shrugging this time.

Keefe gives him a blank look.

“What?” Tam leans back. “You act like drinking caffeine at 11:00p.m. is going to kill me.”

Rolling his eyes, Keefe takes a sip of his decaf coffee. “You are ridiculous.” The words escape his mouth before he can completely register them and his head shoots up, partly expecting to be met with the sight of Tam juggling against his will.

Instead, he is provided with a glare from a moody Shade who has his arms crossed.

“Keefe, even if you do anything, literally no one but me is going to hear you, and even then there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to do it.”

Keefe snorts. His voice, as it always is nowadays, is quiet. “Tell yourself that the next time you tick me off- or try to murder Linh, for that matter.”

“She deserves it.” Tam is back to mumbling and stirring his coffee now. Embarrassment comes off him in waves as he looks back up. “You know, you can leave whenever you want, right? I don’t mind.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Keefe shakes his head, grabbing the pen again.

A sigh escapes Tam as he is once again forced to decipher Keefe’s writing. He huffs. “I don’t need the social interaction, contrary to Linh’s belief.”

“You’re literally a Shade.” Keefe glares at him. As much as he isn’t a fan of Tam, he knows he needs someone to talk to who isn’t his sister. “Do you even realize that, like, the whole point of shadows is that they follow people- you guys are literally supposed to be second or third in line for most-social-ability.”

“No. We follow- not interact.”

“That’s interacting.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Tam.” Keefe is leaning across the table now. If he weren’t so annoyed he’d be weirded out by how close their noses are. “Listen, you don’t have to talk to me- because let’s be real here, this is insanely weird- but, say it with me, ‘A healthy Shade is a social Shade!’”

Tam’s moth remains shut.

Keefe lowers his voice, as to avoid being heard by anyone else. “I said, say ‘A happy Shade is a social Shade.’”

“A happy Shade is a social Shade.” Tam blurts out, his face turning pink.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t...” Keefe decides he doesn’t want to risk anything and stops himself to write it down.

‘I thought you said you wouldn’t listen to me.’

Tam’s face flushes more. “You caught me off guard.”

Keefe snorts. “Sure. Oh! And by the way, who’s Jasper?” He wiggles his eyebrows, hoping a subject change will improves Tam’s mood.

And while it certainly doesn’t improve Tam’s mood- given how he’s completely red at the mention of it- it certainly improves Keefe’s as the older boy burrows his face into his coffee.

“Oh?” Keefe laughs. “Does Shady McSilverbangs have a crush?”

Tam looks up to glare at him before putting the half empty cup down. “No.”

“He does! Doesn’t he! Careful, Bangs Boy. I can tell that you’re lying and I’m pretty sure Ro can hear your heartbeat from where she is outside.”

If possible, Tam turns redder. “I don’t. Linh just thought- thinks- I do and asked him to call me.” The last part of his sentence can barely be understood.

“Really? Because that’s a lot of emotion you’re hitting me with right now.”

Tam’s glare worsens. “Why are we even talking about this?”

Keefe shrugs. He takes a sip of his coffee, forcing Tam to wait for his answer. “It’s entertaining.”

“Ugh.” Tam adds more sugar to his coffee like he’s trying to put himself into a sugar coma. “I hate you.”

“You wound me, Bangs Boy.” Keefe cries. “Though, you came here on your own accord- I didn’t drag you anywhere this time.”

The other sinks in his seat. “You needed the workout anyways.”

“I did not! Besides, you weigh, like, three pounds.”

Tam scoffs. “You were sweating by the time you were done, so clearly you needed the workout given that dragging three pounds did that to you.”

“Dude, you made me drag you up two flights of stairs.”

Tam takes another drink of his coffee. “My point still stands.”

Keefe isn’t sure what to say to that, causing the two of them to fall into an awkward silence as they focus on their drinks.

They’ve only been out for thirty minutes or so, but honestly this whole thing isn’t going super well. They should probably just go back home and forget this all ever happened. Keefe can try to set Tam up with someone else...

The Empath wracks his mind, looking through a mental list of anyone who might make a better friend than him, but everyone he thinks of is either too wrapped up in their own personal problems or just doesn’t know Bangs Boy well enough. Great. Just great. So not only is Tam possibly stuck just being alone- his only other seemingly currently available option is either that Jasper guy or a terrible friend... frenemy... person.

Keefe looks back up at Tam.

He’a still embarrassed and it’s not that Keefe doesn’t mind it, but he really minds it. “Okay, seriously, what’s wrong?”

Tam’s head snaps up as he jumps. “What?”

Keefe gestures to himself. “Empath. Emotions. Why are you so embarrassed?”

“I’m fine.” Tam finishes the last of his coffee. “We should probably head back soon so you can sleep. You almost done?”

Keefe sighs, having given up for now. “Yeah, lets go.”

Your writing is giving me life rn-

I am loving this awkward forced-by-sister date and the “A happy shade is a social shade” was absolutely hilarious and yeah I’m with you people interacting is really hard to write sometimes I mostly end up reading a bunch of other fics to see how the characters would interact

[tessadoesstuff]

Run It With Love - Chapter 1

For the KOTOBER event from Tumblr!

For Day 1 - Beast

Next Chapter!

A non-linear story of Bly, Aayla, and Quinlan in the time of the Knights of the Old Republic games (about 3,800 years before the prequels) designed to be read without any knowledge of that game or time.

This story will eventually use all of the prompts from KOTOBER, although for the sake of my sanity I will be posting around 3 prompts a week rather than one a day :D

Thank you to LadyVadar and GoBayern for betaing this fic for me!

Aayla fiddles with the gloves she is wearing, even as she sends a cocky grin over to the crowded sidelines of the racing track. She scans the mass of sentients gathered at the dusty, questionably legal, sandy swoop-racing track until her eyes find where Quinlan has chosen his space. Aayla’s master is about 100 yards past the starting line, leaning over the edge of the track to wave at her. Mission has perched on his shoulders, cackling at something Quinlan must have said. The 14-year-old twi’lek is gripping Quinlan’s shoulders with her legs, her hands in the air, waving at Aayla. Admittedly, that was a very good way to get her attention and make sure she spotted them. Mission’s bright blue skin stood out from the dusty shades of green and brown worn by most of those local to Tatooine.

The organizer of the day’s races, Motta the Hutt, begins speaking over the intercom. He announces that the race would begin soon, which draws Aayla’s attention back to the track ahead of her. She tunes out the fake voice that one of the announcers is putting on – if she had to guess she would put her credits on the twi’lek girl trying to play up the stereotype of the weak, pretty female twi’lek. Whoever the announcer is, they’re repeating the fake backstory Aayla produced when she found herself in this time, declaring her the rookie racer this swoop-racing season.

A second, male announcer takes over as the start light ahead of Aayla starts to power on. She listens a little closer when the announcer mentions the time to beat. 23 seconds doesn’t seem too bad – she had watched racers on Taris do much better when she had watched the season opener. Although to be fair, that had been an entirely different track on a different planet.

Aayla flips the lever on the side of her speeder – no, they’re called swoop bikes at this point in time – to turn on the bike’s custom accelerator on and feels it hum to life beneath her, the extra power surging through the bike. As the lights begin to count down to the start of the race, Aayla wraps her hands around the throttle and brake controls attached to the handles of the speeder. As the go light turns green, Aayla slams the throttle trigger to the handlebar, squeezing it tight, and the bike leaps into motion.

Immediately she shifts to avoid the huge pile of debris in front of her, dodging left towards one of the ten acceleration pads placed along the track to give a boost of speed to a racer. As she passes over the pad, she slams her left handlebar forwards, releasing the speed that her accelerator has been building up. Combined, the two speed boosts send her shooting ahead. Through the air, she can feel the vibrations that mean the male announcer is commenting on something, but only barely.

Her lekku stream out behind her as she hits another speed panel and dodges between two more piles of the Hutt’s junk out on the field, the wind rushing around them as she gains speed until the only vibrations she can hear are the ringing songs of the air. She speeds over two more speed panels placed back to back, releasing her speed from the accelerator again as she hits the second pad, and its ever-so-slight slope is enough that she gets a fair amount of air as she does, and she sails over the ridge of sand left in the track by a previous racer. If her count is right, she’s ten seconds in, and almost halfway there. Her count has never been wrong in any of her practice runs.

The following pad is on the far side of the wide track, and at her high speed she only manages to clip the corner of it, but that sets her up for the next one. She squeezes between a rock arch and an artificial obstacle for a straight drive at the oncoming pad.

She takes a deep breath, and just as she reaches it, she slams both her handlebars forward to activate all of her accelerator’s speed, and then adds just a touch of brakes and twists the handlebars the way Anakin would twist the steering wheel when he pod-raced in the lower levels of Coruscant with her, and the bike shoots into the air, clearing two obstacles and sailing for a good hundred yards, despite the fact that the swoop bikes were clearly designed to hover at less than knee height above the ground.

In the air, Aayla sails over another speed pad without activating it, but the next two are in a straight shot to the finish line. On the ground, Aayla would have to dodge several obstacles to get to them, but airborne, she is able to sail right to them, landing on the tail end of the first and shooting straight at the second and final speed pad, releasing her accelerator’s speed for the last time as she shoots across the finish line.

In the end zone, Aayla lets go of the throttle, which she had been squeezing at max since the start of the race, and eases into the brace as she loops around the circular end zone. When the swoop bike finally comes to a rest, she hops off the bike and looks over to the entrance to the end zone. The gate slams open, and three figures come bounding through into the end zone.

“Bly!” She cries out, throwing her arms around her boyfriend, who gives a chuckle and hugs her back. “How did I do?” She asks. She had been moving too fast to hear when they announced her time. Bly gives a dopey grin back at her.

“22 and a half seconds. You did it! That gives you the top time today unless there are any late challengers.” Aayla grins, still full of the adrenaline from moving that fast. She can see less than half the track from where she’s standing. She leans forward and kisses Bly on each cheek, right on top of his golden tattoos.

“With a race like that? There won’t be any late challengers.” Sam comments from where they’re leaning against their swoop-bike, the Jedi checking the ignition and the accelerator on their swoop bike.

“I know! You were incredible!” Juhani adds. The cathar has one of the biggest grins Aayla has ever seen on her face, and the ponytail that is perched on the back of her head sways back and forth a little as the Jedi padawan bounces up and down a little.

“Oh please, my bike was incredible. You were okay.” Sam comments as they bang their lightsaber against the brakes. Aayla giggles, even as Juhani and Bly make twin noises of protest. “We should start heading back – we agreed to meet Master Vos and Mission outside the swoop offices,” Sam adds, and Aayla waves over one of Motta the Hutt’s employees to take Sam’s bike back to the swoop offices on one of their trailers, now that Sam has given it their thumbs up.

Once the bike was all loaded up, Aayla loops her arm through Bly’s and ducks out of the gate onto the path through the sandy Tatooine wastelands. Sam and Juhani follow one step behind them, the sand crunching under their feet as they begin their trek. The sun is beginning to set, so it is only horribly hot out, as opposed to the nearly deadly heat it had been when the races had started.

“When did you and Juhani get here, Sam? I thought the whole point of me riding this race was that you were going to be busy with our side project.” That gets a sigh out of Juhani.

“We hit a dead-end for today. Mission’s brother definitely came here with his girlfriend after he ditched Mission on Taris.” The cather offers, but that was hardly new news. They had heard as much from said ex-girlfriend when Mission had run into her on Dantooine.

“And Lena’s theory was definitely right – after she dumped Griff, he was employed by Czerka Corp for a while. Unfortunately, he’s missing right now, and the Czerka representative is being dodgy about answering any questions about him.” Sam adds on.

“The more I hear about Mission’s brother, the less I think he’s half the man she thinks he is,” Bly adds. “I mean, he was already on thin ice for abandoning his 12-year-old sister on a planet where the system is designed to oppress and marginalize non-humans like her. But every time I learn something new about him, he still manages to surprise me.” Bly grinds out. Aayla can feel his indignation strong in the force. Bly takes being a good older brother very seriously.

“And, the Czerka representative expressed that while they are too busy to look into it now, if someone were to, say, deal with their Sand People problem on the West Dune Sea, they would be more than happy to help. Not that they would be able to pay the said person.” Sam adds.

“You got to love casual, openly corrupt businesses, don’t you?” Aayla chimes in, and gets snorts of laughter from the others, so she considers it a success.

“It’s horrible. I can’t believe the things Czerka gets away with.” Juhani responds, her disapproval filling the force.

“So, what’s the plan? Do you need us to distract Mission again while you guys keep hunting down this lead?” Aayla chimes back in.

“If that’s possible? That would be ideal.” Sam responded, and Juhani nodded.

“Of course, it is. There’s another race tomorrow.” Aayla smirks.

“Maybe Mission will manage to drag Zaalbar to the race with her this time.” Bly offered, a fond smile on his face.

“I doubt it. I bet sand is a pain to get out of Wookie fur.” Sam chimes back in.

[thechaoscryptid]

Writer’s Tag Game, Bouncy’s Edition

Many thanks to @tipsyraconteur for tagging me ❤❤ I know I said this was going to be my strictly Naruto blog but there’s definitely some of my other fandoms that are going to worm their way in heh.

Rules: brag to your heart’s content, you’re awesome, and then tag 5-10 people to do the same.

I’m tagging (if you’d like to play, no obligation): @magnustesla, @scarecrowinthewoods, @dunloth, @caped-ace, @alexianite, @benicemurphy, and @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul (you Voltron peeps, it’s Ary 😉)

1) What’s a paragraph you’ve written that you’re really proud of?

From Order and Obedience (KakaIru): 

“Think Konoha’s dog is going to be an easy fuck, ranger?” Kakashi asked, eyeing every possible exit. Just in case. “That my allegiance is so easily swayed?”

“I think if you were still wearing your boots you’d be trembling in them,” Iruka said without missing a beat. “Your desire to serve the light may not make sense to me, but even I can see that the way your skin drinks in the moon would be pleasing to any god. I’m not demanding darkness, only obedience.”

2) Pick a favorite scene from your longest fic!

The scene in Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru) where Sera and Kakashi part ways. I still get chills at the lines “You are no longer my problem. I am no longer your whore.” There’s plenty of fantastic scenes from that fic, but that still remains one of my favorites. That whole arc, really, from when she finds out the news to when it’s finally 100% over. 

3) Give us a snippet of your most recent WIP:

Voltron! This is a part of one of my stories for the Sheith Big Bang coming up:

A galaxy will never be enough to contain my love for you. 

Mechanically, Keith’s hands go through the motions of powering up Black as Krolia’s voice comes through the comm link. It’s another diplomacy mission--another he’d rather skip in favor of liberating some far off colony from oppressors or just staying in bed, unmoving. The lion doesn’t speak to him the way she used to, and neither does anything else. The universe, for all its glory, has become simple.

Dull.

Grey, even with color sprays from passing planets and nebulas.

He chews on the side of his lip as he lets his head tip to the side, checking to make sure things are in order. His mother’s still rattling off information about the mission and he just wants to tell her to be quiet, he’ll figure it out on his own later. He wants to hear the ghost of Shiro’s voice whispering it loves him again.

Keith…

Ghosts are never enough, but Shiro’s I’ll love you until forever ends echoing in his head assuages the pre-mission blues. “Not that it’s ever anything else these days,” he says under his breath. Krolia asks what he said, and he blames it on a squeaky chair. “Gotta get in here and tune up the cockpit when I’m back. Project for Shiro and I.”

“Well, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with things now. You ready to give ‘em hell?”

Keith pastes a smile on his face, though he knows she’s not on the video link. “Would you expect anything different?”

4) If all of your published fics sparred, who would win and why?

Ohh, tough one...based off of stats, Wake the White Wolf, no question. Off of personal preference? Probably Crescendo (SakuOro) right now. 

5) What’s a fic/author you’ve taken inspiration from and in which one of your works did you incorporate that inspiration?

I won’t lie, Tipsy, a lot of my recent style choices came from Scar Tissue 😅 I found I really enjoy storytelling in present tense, with longer flowing lines punctuated by short lil ones for emphasis. It’s appeared in...most of my recent stuff? I switched within the last year or so.

(putting the rest under a cut because there’s some longer answers)

6) Which fanfiction character do you enjoy writing the most? In which one of your fics do you think you wrote them best?

This is another tough one xD I think I actually have to go with a three part answer here, though really, I enjoy writing so many more.

Kakashi Hatake: Shatter Me (KakaIru), best fic

Dazai Osamu: Marionette (Dazushi), best fic

Keith Kogane: since I can’t tell which one of my bang fics yet, I’ll go with my favorite published, which is Unsteady (Sheith). Truly, it’s going to be the fic from the above snippet hehe

7) Smut or fluff? Give us a sneak peek of your favorite fluffy/smutty scene you’ve written.

Mmm, smut. I’ve really got to be in the right mood for fluff, and my not-so-guilty pleasure reading is angsty smut.

My favorite fluffy/smutty scene...I think it’s probably from Reciprocity (KakaSaku)!

He wishes he still had the Sharingan to capture these moments. Sakura’s still got her thin undershirt on, but the delicate hollows of her collarbones call to him as she reaches over to light their lantern. There will be no fire tonight save for the one burning low and heavy in his stomach, as if he’s swallowed molten rock.

“Do I need to do the rest?” she says, dragging her hands up her legs as she stands. “Should I strip for you, Kakashi?”

He stands along with her and tugs off his mask first, then his shirt. Sakura gasps as the angry red of fresh scars is revealed, fingers twitching toward him before he shakes his head. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Inch by inch, the pale curve of her stomach is revealed. Shadows flicker and dance over it along with the flames, and when Kakashi pulls Sakura’s shirt the entire way off he thinks not even the prettiest sunset could compare. There’s several scars--no shinobi makes it out without them--and no shortage of muscle packed into her small frame, but somehow she makes a battleborn body beautiful.

Sakura makes life beautiful.

Her breath hitches when he tells her this, something shifting in her at the tender touch of his lips against her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to just jump you right now?” she says breathlessly.

“No jumping,” he says. “Only falling.”

8) What’s a scene in one of your fics you wish you would receive fanart for?

Uh, literally any one 😅 My top choice, though, I think would be of my favorite OT3 in Desperately:

“I’ll be a lot cuter when the day comes.” Sakura shoved the bandana up and crunched her nose as she looked back with Ibiki. “You might have to leave me at the altar to catch everyone fainting at the sight of me.”

Ibiki’s laugh rumbled through the living room as he gathered her back to his chest. “We’re never leaving you there, baby, you know we couldn’t,” he said. “Or maybe we could take turns catching them. How d’you think your clothes will hold up, Rai?”

“They’ll be fine. I volunteer for catching duty as long as it’s you two falling for me at the end,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the couch as he watched them sway. “And of course, falling into bed with me later.” Ibiki cocked an eyebrow as Sakura giggled into his scarred chest. “What, you think I”m joking?”

“Never considered it,” Ibiki said. He pulled away from Sakura to trail his hand up her arm, urging her to spin. His uniform lifted from her creamy skin and Raidou sucked in a breath as the purple lace on the bottom of her underwear was revealed. She knew he couldn’t resist those, and Ibiki certainly didn’t mind them either.

“Come here,” he said. Ibiki let her go and gave her a gentle push toward Raidou’s outstretched arms before flopping next to them as the song began to repeat. “I saw those. You can’t hide them from me.” Her hair tickled his face as he kissed over her cheek down to her ear. “Wearing my husband’s shirt and my wife-to-be’s favorite underwear, how scandalous, Sakura,” he purred.

“I’m sure your wife-to-be will be so very displeased I stole them,” she said, pulling back with a mock pout before turning to beg a kiss from Ibiki. “I hear she picked them specifically for tonight because she wanted to get laid.”

9) Would you ever consider turning one of your fics into a podfic? If no, why not?

Not on my own? I have hearing problems, so it’s just really never occurred to me. If anyone else wanted to, though, I wouldn’t say no!

10) The best (or your favourite) 5 reviews you’ve ever gotten! Don’t forget to tell us which one of your fics received them!

There’s so many 😭😭 My commenters are all fucking awesome, but I’ll trawl my saved comments for some highlights!

P5eud0Nym on Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru omegaverse): So, I just wanted to say you’ve been doing a fantastic job. I appreciate that this isn’t, and hasn’t at any point been, a dumb tropey kink fic. That you’ve taken the time to put so much heart into all of this. The fact that you’re exploring the politics, the social issues, and writing all of the characters as being more than just their A/B/O designations, so good. The multifaceted way you write is just really and truly refreshing. It’s obvious how much work and thought you put into this. You’re tackling a lot of really important stuff, from consent to civil rights, and it’s some grade A USDA certified Good Shit. Thanks for the fic and keep up the good work <3

Lilmeliz on Monster (ShigaDabi): AAAAAAA GUARANTEED I CAN BLOW YOUR MIND mwa. Please excuse the lame dua lipa reference I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- Delicious. Finally some fucking good food. I want to congratulate you. This is such a beautiful, touching, heartwarming masterpiece. I even cried a little. I usually read shiggy with his dark past and his (soul) scars and all that jazz, and venturing into the thought of him having a mere fiber of good will in himself, in his actual self, is risky and prone to be ooc. But here it sounds right. It feels personal, private and even possible, my boi :( Dabi is an angel, I’m dying. I like the reminder “they lie, they kill...” Yes he’s an angel but he’s still evil. I don’t know what else to add but really, this is stunning! IM GONNA TATTOO THISSS amazing work 

Prism0467 on Forbidden (KakaIru): You have written their mutual dependency with such nurturing attention to detail I feel as if I know them. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt...embraced by a work of fanfiction before now...this may well be a first. Your enthusiasm for this pairing comes through loud and clear, I’ll tell you that :)

PearlBear on Crescendo (SakuOro): Wow. Just wow. This is brilliant, heart-wrenching, creative and extremely, extremely well-written. You have such a way with words, I was actually crying. And you adapt their lives as shinobi so seamlessly to situations that happen in real life (how many partners give up on possibilities for their significant one and get nothing in return?). This story managed to move me deeply and all the while, they all were in-character (it hurt when Tsunade looked at Orochimaru in the same way they all do, also loved how Tobirama and Madara are his parents). The omegaverse wasn’t heavy at all, instead it’s well integrated enough that I, who don’t particularly like it, barely noticed and completely accepted it. It’s just the way things are. You manage to convey so, so much in a few words. I’m amazed. So, thank you for sharing this! I am very, very excited for what’s next, whether Orochimaru experiments to save himself, whether Sakumo commits suicide (or worse, dies on this mission), whether... So many possibilities. Your story is outstanding. Thank you for writing this gem!

(insert special shoutout to Tipsy’s review of Testing the Waters...)

and no comment appreciation section would be complete without at least one from @magnustesla! 

This one from Of Scale and Steel (Sheith naga AU): Ary, sometimes I am left speechless and I don’t quite know how to articulate my thoughts after reading one of your fics. Like, everything is just so...so brilliant that it’s like my brain fucks off when I try to get my thoughts down onto a page. Turning well known and beloved characters into something else entirely isn’t easy and often they miss the mark leaving the reader not really connecting with it. But you, you are brilliant and clever in all that you write because damn, I love Naga Keith. It feels like it IS part of canon. And your oc? Super adorable and she just belongs. I really loved her interactions with Shiro and the chewing on his finger had me rollling because it reminded me of when J would test everything by chomping it. Not relevant but it sparked a good laugh from me, especially because it is totally something kids do. I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m excited to see you get your mojo back with this fandom. Love you ❤

[greedisgreen]

Can you please write a PetyrXSansa fic where Petyr is mugged pretty badly while on his way home, and Sansa finds him unconscious and bleeding on the road and then takes him to the hospital

Another old prompt filled, plus two kissing prompts!

@jonarya786 asked:

56, 34 :)

Anonymous asked:

Thank you! I’d love to read a story based on prompt 11

The snow fell hard as Sansa made her way through the side streets of King’s Landing, and she tugged her wool peacoat tighter. With how fast it was accumulating, she regretted not calling a cab, but it was only three blocks back to her place from Jeyne’s flat, and at the time she couldn’t rationalize the fare for so short a distance. However, while they resided in a safer area of the city, Sansa kept her mobile screen alert, tucked inside her pocket, thumb readied to dial. In the other, she held the bear spray she picked up the last(and only) time she got roped into camping. She supposed if it could keep a bear at bay, it would do just fine against a human assailant.

She’d just turned to take a short cut behind her friendly neighborhood bodega, when she heard it — a metallic clang. Her whole body tensed, and she deftly stepped into the shadow of a nearby dumpster, her fists reasserting their grip on the meager items meant to offer her a modicum of defense. She inhaled sharply, trying to tame shrill beat in her chest. She should really know better than to travel the secluded alleyways at night, and cursed herself for her stupidity. Again, she heard the tumult, but nothing more — no footsteps, no crunch of snow. She peeked from her hiding place, surveyed the landscape, and that’s when she saw the dapples of blood in the snow. Alert eyes heedlessly followed their trail to a pile of refuse in the distance, where an unconscious man lay face down.

Oh god!

Sansa’s stomach sank, concern suffocating the last reserves of her caution. With her thumb already poised for action, she dialed emergency services. She hadn’t truly processed the full extent of the scene when the dispatcher answered the line.

“Yes, there’s a man the alley behind the bodega at the corner of Silk and Sage. There’s a lot of blood.”

“No, I didn’t see what happened.”

“Is he breathing? I- I haven’t checked.”

“You want me to what? But I don’t know-”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll try. Just- just gimme a minute.”

Body surging with adrenaline, Sansa walked towards the body on shaky legs, cautiously checking her surroundings, phone clutched. She felt exposed now that she’d left her safe little nook, but the lifeline to the dispatcher was open and ready if she needed to use it. A man laid prone amidst the asphalt and rubbish as the snow slowly encased him. If he was breathing, it was shallow, indeed. She crouched down beside his head, smoothed the flakes away from his face to see a rather striking profile. He was cold, and the bottled up dread she’d been suppressing came welling up. Swallowing down the bile that threatened (Because oh, god! What if he’s dead?), she reached beneath the collar of his heavy coat, placed her fingers as instructed over where his pulse should be, and collapsed on the ground next to him as relief flooded her entire body. He’s alive — hurt — but alive. Upon closer examination, she saw an ominous gash over his temple, and a small pool of blood beneath his head, but flow had thankfully ceased. She heard a buzzlike sound, and realized the dispatcher was yelling through the open line to gain her attention again.

“He’s alive,” she breathed. “But the snow is falling fast, and he’s chill to the touch.”

“Yes, yes,“ she nodded, vigorously trying to clear the snowfall away form his head, somewhat annoyed until she realized the patch over his ears was actually his hair. “I’ll stay with him until the paramedics arrive. Thank you, thank you so much.”

Distractedly, she ran her hand over his hair — satiny smooth against her fingertips — and worried at her bottom lip. “What happened to you?” A pained groan was received in response, and Sansa squeaked in surprise, her phone fumbling out of her grip and lodging in to snow with a crunch. Automatically, she reached for it, but a hand caught her wrist in vise. She froze as she beheld glazed grey-green eyes fluttering open. A wretched sobbing breath caught in his throat. “Cat? Am I dead?”

“No. No, you aren’t dead.” She pried free the hand on her wrist, warming his frozen palm between her own.

Sirens blared in the distance, and she knew help would arrive soon, but he was agitated, distraught as he pushed himself up from the cold asphalt. She need to calm him before he managed to injure himself further. His voice cracked, “I must be. You’re dead, Cat.” He cried into his fist, and Sansa couldn’t bring herself to correct him. Whoever this Cat person was, she was clearly someone he cared for dearly.

Playing along, her voice was coated in tenderness as she soothed, “No, no, look.” She released his hand to cup his face. “Look at me. I’m alive. My hands are warm, can’t you feel them?”

He choked back another pained whimper, resting his cradled head against hers as the tears swam down his cheeks. He shifted closer, his palms cupping the outside of her thighs, flexing and releasing as though he was working out what was real. The heaving sobs receded and an expression akin to relief came over him, awe maybe. “I almost lost you,” he gasped, surging forward to catch her lips without warning. He was delirious and deceptively strong. Arms steely as they bound her to him, her own trapped against his chest. She opened her mouth to form a protest, but he used the opportunity to claim her further; his mouth slanting, his tongue darting in to bait her own. At a loss, Sansa relented. He wasn’t in his right mind, and if a kiss would give him comfort that’s not bad, right? She reached out for him, her tongue toying, lips teasing and soft. He tasted of mint, of salty tears and copper. Despite the melancholic circumstances, it was pleasant. Too pleasant. This nameless man kissed her hard and thorough, and her body grew flustered and hot even as her head was screaming how wrong it was.

Finally, his arms relaxed, and reason was restored. They both gasped for air as she placed some distance between them with a firm hand to his chest. Not so far that he would feel the ache of rejection, but enough that there was space to move again, to breathe again.

The ambulance lights flashed behind her lids, and she lifted them to see it skid to a halt at the end of the alley. As the paramedics rushed towards them with a gurney in tow, Sansa willed herself together, gently removing his arms from around her so that she could stand and flag them down. “He’s over here. And he’s conscious now.”

He looked very small from where she stood, and he stared up at her in a daze. Did he realize she wasn’t this Cat for whom he’d mistook her? Compassion wrenching at her heart, she knelt down beside him again, licked his taste off her lips as she tried to explain what was happening, taking his hand again. “You are hurt.” She drew it up to his temple, let him feel the blood with his own fingers, let him see it. Cupping his cheek, she attempted to drill understanding into him, blues eyes going soft as they met only incomprehension. “They’re going to take you to the hospital now, though, okay?”

Clearly disoriented, he nodded like a child, not fully understanding, but not in a place to question. And Sansa watched on helplessly, biting at her nails as they checked his vitals. Satisfied that he wasn’t in immediate danger, they prepared him for transport — strapping him to the gurney and covering him with a warm blanket.

So preoccupied with her own tumbling thoughts, Sansa almost missed the question when the EMT asked, “Did you want to ride with him?”

Yes. No. I don’t know.

“No, I- I shouldn’t,“ she said lamely, shuffling on her feet. “I only found him, and I need to get home and feed my cat.”

The paramedic shrugged and the pair started rolling him away. And the man’s expression was distant as he stared back her, his eyes lifeless.

God, this didn’t feel right, and she couldn’t stop herself from chasing halfway down the alley after them. “Wait! Wait,” she panicked. “What hospital are you taking him to?”

They didn’t stop their frenzied gait as one yelled an answer over their shoulder. “King’s Landing General.”

She stood frozen, hugging the wall, until they loaded him up and drove away. She felt like an idiot, worrying after a man she didn’t even know, and kicked the snow at her feet, feeling something jolt loose under her heel. Her investigation turned up a wallet — Italian leather, expensive. Recalling the thick wool of his overcoat, and the soft silk of his shirt under her hands, she knew it was his. Inside, it was stripped bare — credit cards, cash, anything of worth removed — except for his ID.

Fingertips traced his imaged, absorbing every detail as she memorized his name: Petyr Baelish.

The next day, Sansa paced in her apartment, tapping his wallet against the palm of her hand as her cat, Sir Percival, bobbed his head, following her movement from his perch on the kitchen table. What to do, what to do? Turn it into the police or drop it off personally at the hospital? She knew, rationally, that the station was the correct route — it was technically evidence. Yet, some treacherous curiosity gnawed at her insides; that hollow expression on his face etched behind her lids.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Pursing her lips, Sansa huffed through her nose in annoyance, hand rearing to strike the wall she shared with her neighbor. The old bat was going to drive her insane one day, and when she snapped no jury would convict her. Letting a silent curse slip past her lips, Sansa fisted her hand at her stomach, yelled through the wall instead, “Oh let up, Mrs. Schmidt! I’m not making any noise! I’m not even wearing shoes, for Christ’s sake!” Not entirely true, but her ornery neighbor would have to come complaining to her door to prove it.

Ugh! She needed to get out. Maybe a jaunt through the park would help; fresh air to untangle her hopelessly tangled mind. Giving a perfunctory scratch to Percy’s ears, Sansa snatched her jacket and scarf from where they hung and donned them clumsily as she ran down the stairwell, out into the thick drape of winter.

It was only a hop, skip, and a jumped before she stared up at King’s Landing General. She didn’t even recall how she got there.

Room 414

Sansa stared at the number; hesitantly, raised her hand to knock only to drop it again, uncertain. His face flashed before her; the crushing desperation on it just before he’d capture her lips; the listlessness of his eyes when the paramedics carted him away. The way he just looked at her — looked through her. Her knuckles rapped.

Knock, knock, knock

Through the door, she heard a plaintive, lowly murmured, “Come in.”

Tentatively, she peeked inside to see him reclined in bed, hospital gown slightly askew at his shoulders as he read a book. A set of reading glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, and it struck her that it was an appealing look on him; far handsomer than the faded license picture presented. Unfortunately, he seemed enthralled with the words on the page, and made no move to greet her or even glance up. She cleared her throat with a little cough, and his eyes darted up, spying her in the cracked door over the tops of his frames.

Color tinged her cheeks as their eyes met, and he seemed almost as abashed, quietly snapping the book closed and folding his glasses away. “I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to sit up straighter. “I thought it was just another nurse come to poke at me. Can I help you?”

“Umm… hi,” she greeted with a small, nervous smile, tucking away her hair as he slid into the room. Approaching the bed, hands animated, she explained, “I’m, uh, not sure if you remember me. I’m the one who found you last night.”

“Oh!” His eyes widen briefly. “Forgive me,” he muttered apologetically, rubbing a hand over the bandage near his temple. “My head… It’s still a little fuzzy.”

“No, it’s fine. You were pretty out of it, so I wasn’t sure…” She trailed off with a sigh, shrugging away the unfinished thought. “Anyway, I found this on the ground after you’d gone.” Edging closer, she extended it out to him. Their fingers grazed, sending a shock straight through her, and she retracted her arm quickly, averting her eyes to the linoleum tiled floor. “I thought you might want it back, even if it was picked clean.”

“Thank you.” Petyr — Mr. Baelish — he turned the wallet over a time or two, as if debating how much of his life had been disrupted before admitting defeat and pulling it wide. His brows twitched upward, and he huffed, “Wow. They even took my coffee rewards card.”

“The monsters.” The glib comment flew out without thinking, and an apology was half formed until she saw him crack a smile, heard a muted chuckle, and coyly met him with one of her own.

His whole face softened, the deep lines around his eyes going slack as he seemed to relax at last. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I should properly thank the woman who saved my life. What’s your name?” He held out his hand for her, and after a seconds hesitation, she placed her own within it.

The warm contact caused prickle after prickle to raise on her skin, and she prayed the color flooding her cheeks was mild enough to be explained by the coat she still wore. “Sansa — Sansa Stark.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stark. I’m-”

“Petyr Baelish,” she finished. Explaining in a rush, “I saw your license.”

Mirth played on his lips as he tugged her closer. “Well, it seems you have one up on me, Miss Stark.”

“Sansa. If you keep calling me Miss Stark, I’ll just look around the room, confused,” she joked lightly.

“Fair enough. But if that’s the case, you must call me Petyr.” A thumb brushed enticingly over her knuckles, sending a frisson budding low as he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes hooded. “Thank you, Sansa, from the bottom of my heart.” When his lips met her skin, she thought for sure she was going to turn into a puddle on the floor.

She stuttered, heart flying in her chest, “I- Uh- I’m glad I could help.”

A catlike grin lit his features, as his thumb swiped again, rubbing the faint moisture from his lips over her hand before he released it. “Actually, if you have a moment, maybe you could help me with something else?”

Her brows furrowed as she flex her hand, trying to ignore the way it tingled. “I- Maybe?”

Pulling forth the tray table that had been rolled to the side, Petyr lifted the cover off his lunch. “My current harridan of nurse is adamant that I finish this. Yet,” he distastefully eyed the cup of green jello, “that gelatinous goo is on my plate. I don’t suppose you like it? You’d be doing me a great service,” he pled.

Sansa ruffled her hair and laughed. “You want me to eat your Jello? Really?” At his adamant nod, she shrugged, “Okay. I think I can suffer the indignity if it’ll help.”

“You’re an angel!” he exclaimed with exaggerated relish. “Now sit. Tell me about yourself, Sansa.”

A mild cerebral edema kept Petyr in the hospital far beyond what he would have preferred. He explained it to her as she toyed with the cup of jello in her hand. The condition was not severe enough to warrant surgery, but the doctor insisted he stay for observation until they were certain he was out of danger — one week at a minimum. He hadn’t even been there twenty-four hours, and the stress of being endlessly poked and prodded was already taking its toll. But he enjoyed her company, and would she mind coming again? How can a girl turn down an invitation like that?

So, it became their routine. Sansa swung by daily to visit Petyr, eat his terrible jello, and they would talk — about everything. She told him about her job at the coffee shop, the classes she was taking at the local uni, and he in turned would regale her with tales of his own. He worked for the government (some fancy accountant type), and traveled abroad on the regular. It was a bit intimidating at first. He was older, had seen places and met people she only recognized from the telly. The vast differences between them, however, soon dwindled in relevance as their similarities came to fore. They were both orphans; both raised in the foster care system; both somehow survived and thrived.

Some subjects, however, seemed too delicate to broach. The kiss, Cat, that whole crazy night — they both circled around it. That was until the night before his discharge.

After her shift, Sansa snuck a coffee to him — a mint mocha with an extra dollop of whipped cream — and smiled a secretive little smile as she watched him take an appreciative sip; her giggle coming out involuntarily as she pointed out the ridiculous amount of cream caught up in his moustache. Petyr tried to lick it away, but mostly succeeded in mooshing it beyond the reach of his tongue.

Grabbing a tissue, Sansa took pity on him, plopping herself at the edge of his bed. “Here,” she offered, tilting his face up to dab at that impossible little spot of white, face growing warm only after she’d finished and he’d pulled her hand down into his; her gesture suddenly feeling far too intimate for their short acquaintance. Feeling silly, she tried to remove herself, but he refused to let her go, yanking her back.

There was something alight in his eyes that she couldn’t place immediately, then it hit her. Nervous — he wanted to say something and he was nervous, and now she found that she could barely meet his eyes. What if he was about to say goodbye? Go back to the infamous Cat that he never mentions. At indistinct pain welled up in her chest at the thought, and her breaths grew shallower and shallower until he spoke, “Once again, I feel the need to say thank you. I’m not sure I would have survived my stay here without these little kindnesses of yours.”

Shaking her head, she tried to laugh him off. “It’s no trouble.”

“So you say, but…” he looked sheepishly towards their entwined hands, “I haven’t been entirely honest.” Sansa’s brows pinched, confused. “I need to apologize. I lied. When I first saw you, I acted as though I didn’t recognize you, but I did. I remember everything that happened that night.” Her face lit up like a neon sign when she understood his meaning. “I wasn’t in my right mind when I came to, but that doesn’t excuse my actions.”

“Petyr, it’s okay. You don’t have t-”

“I do. I-” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable as he adjusted where he sat. “ I forced myself on you and you’ve been nothing but kind to me since. Coming to visit everyday, bringing me newspapers and books, sneaking little treats for me past the nurses. I feel as though I’ve taken advantage. I’m sorry, Sansa. Truly. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, please just say the word.”

Please, kiss me again. That was the real reason she came here to return his wallet. She tried to delude herself into believing she was being a good Samaritan, but it was only the lie she told herself to make her behavior more palatable; admitting that she wanted him just a bridge too far for her conscience. In her dreams, that kiss replayed over and over in slow motion until she was breathless. But, of course, she couldn’t say that. It had been meant for someone else — for Cat.

At a loss(because how on earth had she allowed herself to become this far gone), Sansa racked her brain before smiling lamely, and suggested, “Well… I wouldn’t say no to a steak dinner.”

“Is that all?” he asked, granting her a smile that almost made that twisty, achy feeling in her gut(That try as she might, she’s never been able to quite tamp down) worth it. He kissed her hand for the second time in so many days. “I think that can be arranged.”

Removing her coat, Petyr handed it off to the girl working coat check along with his own, and all those meddlesome nerves that’d been knotting up in Sansa’s stomach since they made these plans threatened to choke her. Oh, the restaurant is posh; actual linen adorned the tables with candlelight, the service staff in black tie dress, everything screaming of romantic rendezvouses. Earlier, she worried if perhaps she’d over done it with the teal raglan dress and black leggings she wore, but she feared now the exact opposite was true. She tugged at the hem that barely reached mid thigh; smoothed the fabric down her middle trying to appear unaffected, and failing. She fretted, teeth tugging at her red tinted lip until she tasted the lipstick, then made a mad dash with her fingertips to wipe off the color that transferred before anyone noticed. Shit, she was nervous, and this wasn’t even a date.

Petyr’s touch burned at the small of her back, startling her out of the worried glances she was casting over the room. His whisper light, but a touched concerned. “Are you okay?”

Clearly, she wasn’t doing a great job of hiding her apprehension. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “Just- I feel a little underdressed. When I said steak, I was thinking more along the lines of the nearest Sizzler. This looks… expensive.”

“Never you mind,” Petyr assuaged into her ear, guiding her to follow the waitress to their table. “The owner is a friend of mine. Everything will be comped tonight.”

“I guess it pays to have friends in high places,” Sansa quipped as they approached their seats.

His hand slipped further around to squeeze the curve of her waist, and Sansa almost tripped over her feet in surprise. She could hear the smirk in his reply. “That it does.”

Filet mignon, drizzled with an avocado butter and rosemary sauce. Asparagus wrapped in bacon, cooked to crispy and tender perfection. Roasted cherry tomatoes with whole garlic cloves, bursting with savory flavor. Sansa hadn’t eaten this well since… Well, ever. There may have been one Thanksgiving when she was still just a child, but the memory was tainted; her foster family at the time having been particularly cruel.

Her companion watched in expectant delight, hands twined together over his own dish, as Sansa brought the first savory morsel to her mouth. A cacophony of flavor exploded on her tongue, eliciting a moan that was practically indecent.

“Does it meet with your approval, then?” he asked with a terribly wicked, teasing grin. 

That smirk really should be illegal for the deplorable things it did to her insides. She clenched her legs together, hoping to abate the fluttering twitch that pulsed low in her hips. With her ankles crossed demurely, she sampled the first taste of the spicy Syrah that he’d ordered with their meal, unsurprised to find it a perfect compliment. “Honestly, I think it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,“ she confessed with a blush on her cheeks.

“I’m glad. I wanted to do something special for you,” he said, cutting into his own meal. “Your presence this last week, it was a comfort. While I can claim many people’s acquaintance, there are very few who I could call a friend.“

Swallowing her disappointment, she plucked her bread apart. “So, is that what we are — friends?”

“Is that something you’d like?” Petyr commented casually, glancing up from his plate.

She plastered on a watery grin, attempting to hide her chagrin. “Of course, I would.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” he said quickly, explaining further, “I’ve missed having people I can rely upon. People, not in my pay that is. Unfortunately, as I’ve gotten older, it’s become rather difficult to connect with my peers. Usually, those around my age are settled down, worrying about how to pay for their kids’ education. I don’t have that issue. It’s freeing, but also quite — for lack of a better word — lonely.”

“So you’ve never married?” she asked, trying to squash the hope rising up in her. 

“No.”

“Then, I have to ask. Who is Cat?” The whole room seemed to go quiet, as she met the stormy depths of his eyes. She bit her lips before stating, “You called out for her that night after you’d been mugged.”

The utensils in this hand clanked as he set them on his plate, and he reached for his glass. “An old heartache. One that’s been slow to mend.” A deep draw of the decadent red wine bobbed down his throat, and he took a steadying breath. “She died almost twenty years ago. Her car skidded off a bridge. Her body was never recovered.”

“I’m so sorry, Petyr.” Her heart hurt for him, and she felt torn in two because she’d been sitting here jealous of a dead woman. Idiot — callous, thoughtless idiot. She squeezed his hand atop the table, determined to be the comfort he clearly thought her. “She must have been a very special to you, to still think of her after all this time.”

“She was,” he said soberly, returning her gesture along with a muted smile. “But that was a long time ago, and I’d much rather converse on happier topics, wouldn’t you?”

By the end of dinner, there was no denying it. Sansa was wildly enamored with Petyr Baelish — wildly enamored and completely, utterly heartbroken. He was the perfect gentleman; charming, funny, and after they’d demolished the first tray of bread she’d realized, devastatingly handsome for a man no less than twenty years her senior. The crooked grins he’d cast her way, the warm rumble of his laugh, the careful way that he’d helped her to and from the restaurant, the way his scent would crowd her — she was positively drunk off him. And he thought of her as a friend. Tears of burning frustration stung behind her eyes. What sort of stupid girl falls for a man who’s still in love with a dead woman?

The car hummed to a stop in front of her building, and Petyr’s hand found hers in the dark. “Is everything okay, Sansa? You’ve been very quiet the last hour.”

Sansa’s heart twisted as she took in the concern on his face, and her exquisite meal sat like a heavy immovable rock in her gut. “I’m fine.” She shrugged, casting him a pale shadow of a smile. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten so many lemoncakes. I’m just sleepy is all.”

“It was a particularly rich meal. I’m glad you shared it with me. I can’t recall the last time I had such enjoyable company,“ he agreed, tone raspy and warm. He pursed his lips, leaned into her intently, and that dastardly, sinful hope convinced her to close her eyes… "I thought perhaps-” But Sansa cut off whatever he was about to suggest, realizing far too late that he wasn’t making a move to kiss her at all. His lips were parted but immobile beneath her own, and by the time she pulled the brakes on this runaway train, she absolutely wanted to curl up and die. The face of complete shock stared down at her like a barrel of a gun, and his lips were stained red.

Oh, god.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I- I-” She licked her lips, her hand scrambling for the door’s handle. She had to get out of the car before she really did die of acute embarrassment. The cool grip found its way into her palm. Jackpot. “Um, thanks for dinner.” She bolted. Through the door, into the building, up the stairwell; pulling off her modest ballet flats after the first flight because they kept slipping and she couldn’t hide in her apartment fast enough.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Who does that?! Just up and kisses someone who was only trying to be kind!

The keys to her studio unit jangled uncontrollably as her hand shook; her blood pumping at light speed from such a heinous error in judgment, and she didn’t take a true, full breath until the door was slammed hard behind her. Not even a full minute passed before the little fury dictator was demanding her attention.

Mrrrew, mrrrew

“Oh, Percy, at least you still love me,” she said forlornly, picking up the grey tabby from where he weaved through her legs. Kissing him on the head, “Even if it’s only because I feed you.” She placed him on the counter as she opened a bag of treats.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"You have got to be kidding me!” Sansa whipped out of her kitchen and yanked open her door, fully prepared to tell Mrs. Schimdt just where to shove her wall banging broom, only to stop dead in her tracks. Petyr stood just outside her door, his hand poised to knock. Her stomach did a one eighty flip into a triple axle and whatever the fuck other fancy spinning, sproinging Olympic moves one could think of as he stepped closer. Words froze in her throat, which was just fine, as he didn’t seem interested in talking. He reached out for her — arms snaking around her waist, into her hair — and his mouth took hers in a deeply, sensual kiss. The slow, careful movement of his lips and tongue pulling the sweetest sounds from her throat. This kiss wasn’t as good their first. It was better. Because this kiss, this kiss was meant for her and her alone. She melted into him, meeting him stroke for delicious stroke, reveling in the same piquant flavor that she’d come to crave.

Petyr growled, painstakingly pulling his mouth away. “Now, if you’ll let me finish what I wanted to say before,” he purred against her lips. “I’d like it very much if we could continue to see each other.”

“Okay,” she sighed happily, nails rasping along his nape. “But only if you keep kissing me like that.”

“I don’t think,” he said, peck, peck, pecking down her jaw, “that will be a problem.” A sweltering kiss to her lips, and he loosened his grip attempting to exit gracefully. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Sansa wasn’t having it. She wrapped her arms around him tighter. Her voice dripping pure sugar, “You don’t want to stay awhile?” Oh, she really shouldn’t sound that desperate, but Petyr didn’t seem to mind.

The deep rumble of his chest warmed her through, as he replied with amusement tilting his lips, “We have an audience.”

“Hmm?” Sansa opened her eyes (When had she shut them? Who knows, who cares! Elation coursing through her veins because he kissed her! He wanted her! She was in his arms!), and craned her head around to see old Mrs. Schmidt standing in her house robe, cigarette hanging out of one side of her mouth and curlers in her hair.

Petyr tilted her to face him once more, kissed her lips with a grin. “Tomorrow.” He slithered out of her arms and veritably skipped down the stairs, and Sansa could not wipe the smile off her face if her life depended on it. It took all her effect not to make a complete ass out of herself by twirling into her apartment.

“Well, honey,” Mrs. Schmidt said in her smoke soaked voice, “If you two don’t work out, you can send him my way.”

In your dreams you old crone!

Sansa glided into her apartment, singing out sweetly behind her, “Goodnight, Mrs. Schmidt.”

[resbang-bookclub]

AMA Transcript: Leap Year

Next up, @blinkfl0yd, @ahshesgone and @innocentcinnamonbun stopped in to answer questions about their Resbang, Leap Year! Here’s some of what went down!

*Please be advised that this AMA contains one (1) small spoiler for the unpublished part 2 of Leap Year :)*

Q: My first question is for Inno and Ash! How did you choose which scenes you wanted to draw! :)

Inno: Ahh I usually like to draw scenes that have a big emotional impact or are just really funny (Which a lot of scenes in Blink’s story made me laugh out loud pretty hard) I also like to make book cover-like pieces for Bangs I do.

ahshesgone: Ohhhhh I was so in love with that first scene with Spirit and Maka, I HAD to do it, because it set the tone so perfectly for both of them. Then it was mentioned that Blair babysat Maka and I Had To also, bc that right there was a dream I had and I realised it when I read it, and Stein and Marie were just impossible to pass up. Blink writes so vividly, I would draw forever if I had the time.

Q: What was the inspiration behind this story? I always love stories about the adults and we get them so rarely!

BlinkFl0yd: Honestly I just really like the adults haha, I just thought they needed some love. I'd been playing around with a college AU for the adults probably since before Resbang was announced, but I think the biggest thing that kind of inspired where it was going to go was probably learning about anesthesia awareness?? Which is pretty much exactly how it sounds and is actually really terrifying and made me think of Spirit and Stein which is pretty much what kickstarted that whole plotline. So that was sort of the basis for the whole fic. After that it was just... coming up with different shenanigans. The horse head was totally a spur of the moment thing.

Q: This one is for everyone: did you guys have fun working together? Was there a lot of communication? :D

ahshesgone: I really liked working with both Blink and Inno!! They're the awesomest. I guess we could do with more similar timezones though, tbh.

BlinkFl0yd: Oh gosh seconded. ash and Inno are so cool and so talented and it was so much fun working them them.

Inno: I had such a blast working with ash and Blink ;;;u;; <333

Q: Was there anything that you wanted to add but couldn't? Or anything that originally wasn't going to be there that ended up going in?

BlinkFl0yd: So the thing is, as a result of splitting it up for Resbang, I now get to sort of rework some concepts that I had to originally cut out because of the time crunch. I think the biggest thing is that I originally had a whole plotline planned out for Medusa and White Star that I had to cut out or rework for sake of time, but now I get to add it back in and I'm really excited.

Q: bb Maka is SO CUTE AND I LOVE HER, how did you go about characterizing her?

BlinkFl0yd: Oh gosh yes, baby Maka was fun but difficult. I have no idea how children work so…

Q: Yeah like, you didn’t make her too babyish which is a problem I see a lot when people write kids.

BlinkFl0yd: I am honestly not very good with kids, but yeah, it does irritate me when people write kids super babyish, I deadass once read a fic where a ten year old was still making baby sounds and even I know that that is Not Right. I think that's the one thing that helped me with baby Maka and the rest of the kids.

Q: Favorite character to write and favorite scene to write?

BlinkFl0yd: It was a lot of fun to get into Stein's head, and I also had a lot of fun writing Blair's appearances. I also enjoyed Sid a lot more than I thought I would, and Nygus.

Inno: You wrote Stein so well, it made me cry tears of joy.

ahshesgone: Omg I loved them both so so so so much. [And] OH MY GOD Azusa.

[there is much joyful screaming about Azusa]

Q: Artist chans, what was your arting process like once you decided what you wanted to art? I think you both did digital, but I bet there are a lot of differences in how you work!

ahshesgone: Hmmm well my process for these ones was pretty all over the place. They were all started around the same time but I finished all of them at different times so I think all of them came [out] looking pretty… dissimilar? I wish I had made the Blair one look less digital because I think that's what I needed for my art for Leap Year, for it to look??? tactile?

BlinkFl0yd: I honestly cried a little when I saw the first draft of the Spirit and Maka picture.

Inno: Ahh I lay out a gesture sketch, then a normal sketch, then I lineart the sketch, fill the whole canvas with a color that pertains to the mood of the piece and use a low opacity brush to lay in colors then just start blending colors from there to form lighting and shade. After that I sometimes air brush some more color into the piece. :,) Other pieces I just color in the lineart and add basic cell shading :,,) I hope I answered right :,)))

BlinkFl0yd: BOTH OF YOUR ARTS MADE ME CRY A LITTLE.

Inno: Couldn’t have made it without such an outstanding source material blink ;;u;;;;

Q: For all of you, do you think Resbang helped you hone any skills/get better at something, maybe something you decided on trying to work on or something you surprised yourself with?

BlinkFl0yd: Honestly, yeah. I've never never actually worked with other people before for a fic, I've never even had a beta before until Resbang? So that was new.

ahshesgone: Oh, I used a really weird way to sketch the steinmarie thing which I was very impressed with myself for. I think I crosshatched the silhouettes and then just erased where I needed lighter areas?

Inno: I've been trying to get better with perspective and comics as well as drawing backgrounds and resbang definitely helped out getting my butt into gear to practice drawing those things. I did pretty well too on it.

Q: Do you feel like your writing has changed or improved at all during the course of writing this? I'm just curious if you felt that your techniques or style had changed at all.

BlinkFl0yd: I'm not really sure if it's changed much? I think if anything I’ve gotten better at working under a time crunch. I'm kinda a perfectionist, which does not go very well with Resbang, so I guess if anything I've gotten better at just word-vomiting first and editing later.

Q: Were there any particularly difficult scenes or roadblocks you needed to work through?

BlinkFl0yd: Hmmm. I think some of the trickiest scenes to write were the ones with Shinigami and Kami. We know so little about [Kami] so she was probably the hardest one to write. I was coming up with a full-on backstory and personality for her as I was writing, so that was both kinda fun but kinda difficult. And Shinigami is… Shinigami.

ahshesgone: OH BUT THEY WERE SO GOOD. I was shaking when I was reading that fight in the car.

BlinkFl0yd: oop. SPOILERS.

Inno: LOL.

ahshesgone: SORRY.

BlinkFl0yd: That's one thing that'll be in the next parts haha.

ahshesgone: Oh my god sorry I read so many versions of it I’M SORRY.

BlinkFl0yd: It's fine! Lol, call it a teaser.

ahshesgone: t-tt-tadah!

Q: Totally not rushing you, but do you plan on posting some of part 2 soon???

BlinkFl0yd: Hopefully soon. School has actually been horrible.

Q: After this, do you have any other projects lined up? And artists, what're you working on next? >:)

BlinkFl0yd: There's a lot I want to do!

Inno: r e v e r b.

BlinkFl0yd: Oh gosh, REVERB.

[starsfadingbutilingeron]

Chapter One: The Difference

Fic Title: Secondhand Hero Author: @starsfadingbutilingeron Summary: What if All Might had been able to save Shimura Tenko? Read this free fic to find out the results!! Rating: General Audiences Read On AO3: x

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five)  ----

Don’t take up too much space. That was the mantra eight year old Shimura Tenko had learned and tried to live for as long as he could remember. From the very second his quirk had activated, he’d gotten the message from his father that he was a monster. His quirk could only bring destruction and harm, there was no chance at him being anything but a devastation to everyone around him; the only thing he was fated to become was a villain.

For years, Tenko was inclined to believe this. He took the beatings and beratings that his father doled out as often and routinely as a nurse would dole out meds in a hospital. He received the scar jutting up his right eyelid when he was five, less than a year after his quirk had activated. Not that he didn’t feel he deserved it. After all, Tenko was just as inclined to believe himself to be a monster as his father was. So, he tried his best to go unnoticed; and when that failed, he let his father’s cruelty befall him without a fight.

Until one day, the day he received the scar on his lip, something inside Tenko snapped. A sharp kick from his father’s boot connected with his jaw, making the young boy’s own teeth clip through the delicate skin of his lip and tear clean through. Blood filled his mouth as his head struck back against the floorboards of his father’s ramshackle house, his teeth smashing together like someone grinding a teacup against its saucer.

Pushing himself up off the floor, Tenko rose to his feet and stared at his father’s turned back. Bringing his hand a few inches from his face, he spit into it; a glob of bloody saliva pooled into the palm of his hand. Peeking up from the center of the small puddle, like an iceberg in a frozen sea, was one of Tenko’s teeth. Giving his mouth a quick once over with his tongue, he was relieved to find the tooth that had been knocked out was one of his baby teeth and that a new one would grow in its place. Closing four fingers, his thumb excluded, around the bloody tooth, Tenko felt his face curl up into a glare as he looked up once more to the back of his father’s shirt.

“You still standing there?” his father swiveled his shoulders around so he could look at his son. When he caught sight of the enraged look on Tenko’s face, he smirked and turned the full rest of the way around. “Say, what’s with that pissy look, you little shit?”

Tenko had to physically force himself not to crumple up and cower away as his father drew closer, maintaining steady eye contact with the drunken adult staggering towards him with a belligerent cockiness exhibited by people who know their opponent is already afraid of them. Once he was close enough that only a few inches separated him and his son, the man reached up one burly hand and closed it around Tenko’s face.

“You’ve gotta be careful pulling looks like that, Tenko,” he sneered, dragging his son up so their faces were almost touching. Tenko could smell the dull burn of alcohol on his father’s breath and fought against the dizziness making his vision swim as he inhaled the fumes. “People might think you’re lookin’ for a fight,” Tenko’s father narrowed his eyes as he took in his son’s frightened expression. Making a guttural noise of disgust, he threw the small boy back against the wall with a single shove. “Get out of my sight,” he snarled. “I can’t stand to look at you anymore.”

Instead of bolting to his room, as he would have typically done; Tenko remained standing against the wall where he’d been shoved. He wasn’t doing or feeling or thinking anything; he just stood there, staring at the expansive nothing he felt spreading throughout his entire body. When his father noticed him still standing there, he moved towards Tenko with a renewed surge of rage.

“Did you not hear me!?” his father roared, reaching out to grab at Tenko again. “I told you to get out of my s-”

Tenko’s small hands shot out like twin cracks of lightning, shoving against his father’s stomach in a motion so quick it could have been missed in the blink of an eye. Just the same, the two shot apart from each other; Tenko curled his hands close to his chest while his father stared down to where he’d been pushed. The cloth of the man’s button-down was furled away where Tenko’s ten fingertips had touched against it, a gaping hole with craggy edges that spread out like a smoldering scrap of paper. Tenko’s father smirked, almost laughed, as he looked up under hooded eyelids to his son huddled against the wall.

“You want to see what that quirk of yours can do to me, huh?” his father raised an eyebrow, straightening up and staggering back over to Tenko. “Can’t find out just by touching my shirt , you know,” he grinned, reaching out and grabbing one of Tenko’s wrists. “You’ve gotta touch skin to see what you can really do.”

Tenko felt a flutter of panic climb in his throat as he realized what his father meant to do by dragging his hand forward; tugging as hard as he could against his father’s bone-crushing grip. “St-”

A rough smack from his father’s free hand silenced Tenko before the protestation could even fully leave his mouth. Fixing his son with a cold glare, Tenko’s father pulled his son’s hand flush against the bare skin of his stomach.

“This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?” his father demanded. Tenko couldn’t form words to defend himself any longer; the only thing he was conscious of was the warm pulsing seep of blood beginning to flood over his fingers. When Tenko didn’t respond to the question, his father smiled triumphantly as if he had proven his own point. “That’s right,” he sneered, grabbing a handful of Tenko’s hair and pushing his head back against the wall so he was forced to make eye contact. “This is the only thing you’ll ever be good for, Tenko. Might as well live up to your full potential.”

Tears of stress and anger flooded Tenko’s vision. “No!” he cried at last, reaching up with his free hand and smacking his father’s arm away from his head. Then, reaching out in a blind grab of panic, Tenko grabbed at his father’s wrist to try and free his own. Blood slicked on Tenko’s palms and dried where it met the cold air; he was vaguely aware of the snap of tendons and brittle crunch of disintegrating bone, but all he could focus on was the deranged laughter coming from his father.

Wincing, Tenko looked up to his father’s face. Through the man’s harsh laughter, Tenko could see the crushing flood of pain his father was covering up as he continued to cackle cruelly. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the laughing turned to shouts of pain; Tenko struggled to take his hands away, but his father kept his hold on his son’s wrists like an iron vice. At least he did until a dull thud against the floorboards and a spray of blood from the man’s wrist signified the release of one of Tenko’s hands.

Both their gazes shot to the floor where Tenko’s father’s palm lay splayed in a pool of its own blood. The rusty smell stung Tenko’s nostrils, strong enough to make him want to vomit; he didn’t dare look to see what was left of his father’s stomach, the feeling of slippering viscera against his hands was already more than he’d ever wanted to experience again. Just as he was wondering how his father was still standing, a choking noise followed by a splatter of blood that got in Tenko’s eyes overtook the room.

Stumbling backwards, Tenko’s father collapsed onto his back a few feet from where his son had been standing. The man made spluttering gasps, breaths squishing like a tire sinking into mud, accompanied by the eventual and inevitable cries of shock and pain at what was left of his body.

Tenko's legs felt as if they’d been replaced with plastic straws, silently marveling that he could remain on his own two feet as he stared at his father’s detached palm; blood dripping down his arms. He couldn’t bring his gaze up to where his father’s body lay heaving its final breaths, feeling as if every synapse in his brain had been slashed with a rusty knife leaving him incapable of doing anything but staring down at that slackened hand.

Slumping back against the wall, Tenko slid down so he sat on the floor with his hands settled between his legs as he stared forward and listened to his father’s dying shouts. The cries grew fainter and more frantic, each intoning a new message of fatalistic despair; but Tenko could only sit with his eyes forward, chest heaving with each breath he forced himself to take.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, just staring straight ahead, his vision glossing over the dismembered corpse of his father and blurring it into an incoherent blob. It could have been hours or days to Tenko for how much he was registering the passage of time; but truthfully it was only a matter of a few minutes before there was a banging on the front door, an incessant demand from a loud voice that Tenko had no constitution to reply to right then.

After a couple minutes of the knocking, Tenko could vaguely register the sound of the door being knocked back on its hinges followed by the imposing stamp of footsteps across the creaking floorboards. Even as his space was invaded and questions were fired at him, Tenko couldn’t snap himself back into the moment enough to even acknowledge the presence of two more adults in the room. Just a distant recognition of the gleaming badges on their uniforms and the unintelligible drone of radio code as the officers contacted their police station was all that registered to the young boy still sitting on the ground.

One of the officers, who was crouched in front of Tenko trying to ask him what had happened, furrowed her brow in concern. “This kid’s in shock,” she called over her shoulder to her partner. “He’s gotta see a doctor before we get anything out of him.”

After that, the officers didn’t ask Tenko anymore questions; just stood around the body on the floor taking pictures and writing down notes for their reports. A few minutes later, more adults flooded into the room; these ones in light blue scrubs and face masks. A couple of them buzzed around the body, while a couple others went to Tenko and talked to him in a low soothing voices; eventually coaxing him up and out of the house and helping him sit down in one of the ambulances waiting outside.

“Okay, buddy, I’m just gonna check your eyes and your blood pressure real quick,” the one EMT said in a friendly voice, offering Tenko a warm smile. Tenko barely reacted as the EMT shone a bright light in each of his eyes; but when the kind man went to take his hand, Tenko recoiled as if he’d been burned.

“Careful,” Tenko rasped out, tucking his hands away from the EMT’s reach.

“Why, what’s wrong?” The EMT asked, face creasing in concern. “Are you hurt?”

Tenko shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears threatening to fall. “My quirk,” he murmured, raising a shaky hand and pointing out the back of the ambulance. “Did that.”

The EMT followed where Tenko was pointing and saw the covered gurney bearing Tenko’s father being loaded into the other ambulance. Looking back to Tenko, the EMT was careful to keep his voice soft and nonjudgmental so Tenko knew he wasn’t angry with him.

“Your quirk did that, you said?” The EMT asked. Tenko nodded. “And it comes from your hands?” Another nod. “When you touch people?” Tenko nodded again, a few tears slipping out from his closed eyes.

“All five,” Tenko managed to get out, waggling his fingers so the EMT could see.

“You need to touch all five fingers to something before it works?” the EMT clarified. When Tenko nodded again, the EMT stood up from his crouched position and milled about the ambulance. “I’ve got an idea...won’t be a permanent fix but...It should help for now…”

Coming back to Tenko, the EMT handed him a sterile wipe and instructed him to clean the blood off his palms as best he could. Once Tenko was done wiping the smears of dried blood off his hands, the EMT turned back to him holding a roll of gauze.

“Alright, go ahead and hold your hands out for me,” the EMT said. Tenko reluctantly did so, flinching slightly as the EMT took his left hand in his own. But Tenko’s eyes quickly widened in wonder as he watched what the EMT was doing; taking the gauze, he’d rolled up Tenko’s pinky and secured the gauze with tape. He repeated the process with Tenko’s other hand and then gestured to them as if he’d just done a magic trick. “There you go! Test it out,” the EMT held out a clipboard for Tenko to touch.

Reaching out, Tenko pressed his fingertips against the flat surface of the clipboard and watched in relief as nothing at all happened. Tears trickled down his face and he turned the smallest of smiles to the EMT who had helped him. After that, Tenko let him and the other EMTs run their tests and shut him into the back of the ambulance to be taken to the hospital.

“Say, buddy,” the EMT who’d wrapped his fingers spoke up as they rode to the hospital. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Sh-Shimura,” Tenko replied, voice still struggling to make it above a whisper. “Shimura Tenko.”

“Shimura Tenko,” the EMT repeated, scrawling the name onto his clipboard. “Well, just hang in there, we’re gonna get you all fixed up and sorted out real soon.”

Tenko nodded silently, reaching up and pressing two fingers against his split lip. The rancid stench of blood still clung to him, churning his stomach and making his head spin; he wondered absently when he would go home, or if he even had a home at all anymore.

As the EMTs took him into the hospital, he saw the one stop and mention something to the police officers still present. The officers turned to each other, muttering amongst themselves before one of them messaged someone over radio; Tenko turned his gaze away as the police officers all looked up after him as he was wheeled inside the hospital.

Tenko ended up getting another check-up once inside the Emergency Room, followed by a doctor coming in and explaining to him the the cut through his lip required stitches. Not really understanding why the doctor took the time to warn him about the procedure, Tenko nodded along and let the nurse get him into a hospital gown. Through the glass window in the room, Tenko saw the nurse handing his clothes off to a police officer wearing gloves who placed them into a plastic bag and took them away.

Getting the stitches didn’t really hurt, the doctor put a numbing agent around Tenko’s cut lip so he wouldn’t feel the needle. Afterwards, a nurse took him back to the examination room he’d first been brought to when he got to the hospital; she helped him up onto the bed and turned him to face her while she checked the bandages over his stitches.

“You’re being so brave right now, sweetheart,” the nurse was saying as she tilted Tenko’s face up towards the light. “You’re being as brave as All M-”

The nurse broke off mid sentence, her gaze tearing away from Tenko’s face and going past him to the window on the far side of the room that looked out into the hallway. Her face went pale and her eyes widened, the corners of her mouth struggling between smiling or remaining agape in shock.

“All Might,” she murmured, pressing a hand to her face and subconsciously patting her hair into place. “That’s All Might.”

Tenko threw a glance over his shoulder to look out the window. Of course he knew about the Number One Hero, everyone did; and when you’re a kid getting knocked around on a daily basis, you kind of get in the habit of loftily hoping that All Might will come and save you.

Undoubtedly, the man standing in the hallway conversing with a police officer was that very same hero; his back was turned to the window, but Tenko recognized the hero’s build and his characteristic hair in an instant. There was no doubt that it was in fact All Might standing in the middle of that hospital; but even in that assurance that it wasn’t a dream, a burning question still pervaded through Tenko’s muggy thoughts.

Why was All Might even there?

----

“You’re sure it’s Nana’s grandkid?” Gran Torino asked as he sped down the hospital hallway between his old pupil Toshinori and Detective Naomasa.

“We’re sure,” Naomasa nodded. “Got a call a few hours ago. Neighbors concerned about screaming coming from next door, history of reported domestic disturbances...Except when the cops got there they found a half-destroyed body and the kid sitting there, covered in blood and practically catatonic with shock,” Naomasa paused to elbow open a set of doors and cross into the next section of the hospital. “One of the EMTs got the kid to give a name and when the officers heard ‘Shimura,’ that’s when they called me,” he threw a glance up to Toshinori and then down to Gran Torino. “Ran some DNA tests on the kid and on the corpse. No doubt about it. That kid is Shimura Nana’s grandson.”

“What about the corpse?” Torino asked. “That wasn’t Nana’s son, was it?”

“Afraid so,” Naomasa nodded. “DNA’s a perfect match to Nana’s and her husband’s.”

“How did he die?” Toshinori asked.

“That’s the thing,” Naomasa stopped in front of a hospital room, him facing the window with Toshinori and Gran Torino faced away from it. “The kid’s quirk is disintegration. When all five of his fingers touch something, it gets destroyed. That’s what happened to Nana’s son. Although, we haven’t been able to get the specifics of what happened out of Tenko yet; he’s barely said a word since police found him.”

“Ah jeez,” Gran Torino shook his head, hands poised on his hips as he stared down at the linoleum tile.

“Where is the boy right now?” Toshinori asked next, leaning in close to his friend with a sense of urgency.

“Well,” Naomasa rubbed the back of his neck, letting go of a tired sigh and glancing to the side. “He had a cut on his lip, so they stitched that up. But, as of right now…”

Naomasa stopped talking and tilted his head forward a little bit. Toshinori and Gran Torino gave equally confused expressions before swiveling their torsos in unison and noticing, for the first time, the window into the next room behind them.

At first, all they saw was a nurse staring smittenly out at All Might, looking ready to collapse as the pro hero made eye contact with her. But after a moment, the two heroes located the tiny figure sitting on the only bed in the room with his back to them. The nurse was saying something to the small boy, pointing and smiling out at All Might as she did so. Then, the boy was turning and looking out at All Might as well; his bright red eyes widening in surprise as he turned fully around on the bed.

Gran Torino gave a gruff chuckle; and if it wouldn’t have resulted in him getting his ass kicked into the previous century, Toshinori would have pointed out that his old mentor was getting misty-eyed just looking at the kid.

“He’s got Nana’s mole,” Torino said, pressing a finger under the right side of his lip.

“He certainly does,” Toshinori nodded. Not taking his eyes off the small child, even as Tenko turned away, Toshinori addressed his old friend. “Does he have any other family?”

“Nope. None that we can locate anyways,” Naomasa said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “His mother died when he was about four; only child and her parents have long since passed. As for his father, well...he grew up in the system, didn’t really have a permanent family.”

“Hmm,” Toshinori tapped his fingers against his chin. Staring at the child’s back, Toshinori thought of Nana then; wanting to protect what was left of her legacy that laid on young Tenko’s shoulders. “Naomasa,” he said. “How do you think my prospects for adoption are?”

“Considering you’re the Number One Hero...” Naomasa rattled absentmindedly, eyes looking as burnt out as he was. “...I’d say they’re pretty good.”

“Hold on a second,” Gran Torino waved his hands in front of him before turning away from the window so he could look his old pupil straight-on. Reaching out, he yanked Toshinori’s arm to pull him down so the two of them could be at the same eye level.

“Agh!” Toshinori groaned as his old teacher reached out and shook him by the ear. “I’m not a teenager anymore, you know!”

“What exactly are you thinking of doing?” Torino demanded, ignoring All Might’s protestations. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of adopting Nana’s grandson!!”

“As a matter of fact,” Toshinori stood up straight, dragging Torino up with him as the older man was still holding onto his ear. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

Gran Torino dropped to the ground with a huff. “You do realize that the very reason Nana gave up her child was to keep him safe from the dangers of being close to the One for All bearer, right!?”

“Yes, well,” All Might cleared his throat, turning back to the window and giving a small wave when he caught Tenko staring at him again. “This boy has nowhere to go and, after what he’s been through, I think he should have a stable home environment to grow up in.”

“Are you even listeni-” Torino broke off with a groan, crossing his arms and glaring up at his impossibly tall student. “What do you know about raising a kid, huh?”

Toshinori gave an unconcerned chuckle, turning towards Gran Torino and striking a proud pose. “I’m the Number One Hero,” he beamed proudly. “I think I can handle an eight year old!”

“Yeah, okay, can’t see this one blowing up in your face,” Gran Torino rolled his eyes, turning back to the window and flashing Tenko a discrete smile. “Although...I will admit...I don’t like the idea of sending the kid away to some random strangers so much either. Especially not after hearing about that quirk of his. The wrong kind of influence on a quirk that powerful...I don’t even want to think about it.”

----

Tenko sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the hospital bed, his ankles bumping gently against the metal frame as they swung lazily back and forth. The nurse had left to do her rounds, leaving Tenko with only the muffled chatter between All Might and his two associates out in the hall for company. He didn’t really mind being alone, at least no one was demanding anything of him or hurting him when he was by himself; and after the long night he’d had, it was nice to just sit quietly for a change.

Eventually, the chatter in the hallway died down, and Tenko wondered if All Might had left. Scoffing a little bit at the idea of the Number One Hero traipsing through a random hospital just to have a conversation with a cop and another hero in the hallway outside of his room, Tenko barely noticed the click of the door opening and closing. Turning towards the faint noise he’d just caught, Tenko felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw All Might step into the room.

“Hello there, young Shimura!” All Might gave a wave as he stepped the rest of the way into the room, shutting the door in the faces of the eavesdropping duo Gran Torino and Tsukauchi Naomasa and turning his full attention to the young boy sitting on the hospital bed. “I understand you’ve had quite the long night!!”

Tenko drew his shoulders up around his face as All Might drew nearer. The pro hero was so loud and boisterous, and it only caused Tenko’s mentality of not taking up too much space to rise to the surface. All Might noticed the way the child flinched up at the loud boom of his voice and tried to wrestle it down an octave or two before speaking again.

“Er, maybe not just a long night, then?” All Might rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Kneeling in front of Tenko, All Might looked up into the eyes of the traumatized child in front of him. “I just wanted you to know, Tenko, that you don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

Tenko tilted his head to the side, confused. All Might gave an awkward laugh before tentatively reaching out towards the child. Letting his own large hands hover above the boy’s small ones for a moment, giving Tenko a chance to recoil them if he wished it. When the child didn’t pull away, All Might took the two small hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“Everything will be alright,” Toshinori said, gazing earnestly into the young boy’s eyes. “Now that I am here.”