Hey, I'll be honest, I was going to write the petting zoo scene. and I wanted to show how that his awareness would turn into insecurity about his appearance, while also building a sense of closeness to his neew family but I didn't realize how difficult that would be.
So I'm going to do a time skip and recap to when he's around eight, write for a bit then another time skip in the next chapter to when he's twelve, so I can give him some trauma. You know how it is.
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For Tod, time passed—slowly, almost painfully so.
After the visit to the zoo, he gained more than a few animals to add to his growing collection. Each one became another reference point, another piece of understanding he could use to learn how his abilities truly worked. With more access to different animals came more room to experiment, and for the first time, real progress followed.
With that access, he discovered something important: synergy.
He could fuse animal aspects together toward a single focus instead of layering them randomly. Strength was the easiest example. To achieve it, he combined the bone density of a rhino, 'he would have prefered a whale or a specific type of whale but that's for later', the muscle density of a hippo, and the tendons and ligaments of a kangaroo. With that combination, he was stronger than any child had the right to be—stronger than anyone expected just by looking at him.
But it wasn't easy.
It took a long time, and more failed attempts than he liked to admit, to reach the point where he could isolate specific parts instead of changing everything at once. At first, he had to transform entire limbs or alter large portions of his body just to get the effect he wanted.
That was when he learned there was a cost.
When you combine more than three or four animals into your body—especially when it changes the entire biochemistry of a limb—it doesn't just affect your physical abilities. It changes your instincts. Your thought process. The way you react to the world.
And what's scary is that when you start stacking predators, the aggression stacks too.
Rhinos aren't aggressive by nature, but they're skittish. Easily startled. Quick to defend themselves.
Hippos, on the other hand, are instinctively aggressive and highly territorial.
When Tod took on an aspect of an animal, he didn't just borrow its strength or structure—he inherited a fragment of its instincts. Those instincts could work against him, especially when more than one animal was involved. They chipped away at his restraint and blurred the line between his thoughts and theirs.
Another thing he learned about his quirk was that the part where he could take an aspect without a physical mutation—draining stamina instead—wasn't as good as he'd initially thought. still good though.
It was extremely limited by me.
He couldn't take the aspect of sharp claws without actually growing them. He couldn't gain tough skin without changing his own. Large, structural traits demanded physical mutation.
What he could take were smaller, more precise abilities.
For example, sharks have specialized pores around their snouts that allow them to sense electrical signals in the water.
He learned that during an aquarium trip they'd gone on two years back.
That realization helped him understand why his second function sometimes failed—and why certain mutations never worked properly. It wasn't that his quirk was broken.
He simply didn't understand enough.
With knowledge, he could compensate. He could recreate aspects in ways that were more precise and far less mentally draining than full physical mutations. It gave him access to a wide range of energy-based concepts, all at the cost of stamina. At first, he'd thought of it as a cool little detail.
Later, he realized it demanded deeper understanding.
The last thing he discovered was that he didn't actually need to touch an animal to use its aspects.
He just needed to understand it—biologically, fundamentally.
He figured that out with mice.
And maybe that's why he dove so deeply into researching his quirk in the first place. He didn't have many friends outside the orphanage. Learning gave him something steady to hold onto.
At school, most kids either didn't notice him—or actively tried not to. His face made people uncomfortable. He was smaller than most of his classmates, and everyone seemed to tower over him no matter how much time passed.
He didn't think he was malnourished.
He just thought he might be destined to be small.
But back to my friends. . . or more at this point loss of friends.
Luke had been adopted three years ago. That hurt—but Tod could tell he was happy, and that mattered.
Today, though, was Hope's turn.
He was happy for her. Truly. But there was a sharp, uncomfortable twinge of jealousy he didn't know what to do with. Hope didn't seem happy either. If anything, she seemed more frustrated than he was. They'd grown close over the past few years, and over the last two days she'd been more clingy than usual.
Tod knew why.
The family hadn't wanted him to come along.
When they saw him, he'd tried to smile—but it had only made him drool a little, and they'd been visibly freaked out. That part stung more than he wanted to admit.
Still, he didn't want to rob Hope of her chance at a happy family.
The family seemed genuine. And even when Hope opened all her eyes—when her main mouth didn't smile—anyone who truly knew her could see it. The other mouths scattered across her body curved ever so slightly upward. Even after seeing this that would creep out others, they seemed perfeftly ok with it.
A rare happiness she didn't show often.
And Lily…
Well.
Lily was still Lily.
after tod sends hope off he had one last thing to do that he still needed to do.
he would finally put Slade in his place.
kinda change to 1st pov { i want to announce when i change pov's. / cause i'm not good at keeping it consistant}
Everyone would probably say that waiting only made things worse—that letting it go on this long just meant I was scared. And maybe that was part of it. But mostly, I wanted to be sure.
I didn't just want to push him down physically.
I wanted him to feel it—the way he makes the smaller kids feel. The way he talks over them, corners them, makes them feel like there's no space left to breathe. I wanted him to understand what it's like to be looked down on, to be helpless under someone else's weight.
Even if I'm still on the smaller side myself.
For lilly tho. . . mainly.
scene change to the entrance of the orphanage
The entrance of the orphanage was quiet in that strange, heavy way it only ever got during goodbyes.
Hank and Mia stood near the doors with their ever-present warm smiles, the kind they wore when they were trying to make something hard feel gentler than it was. They watched as Hope, Lily, and I crowded around her, standing too close, holding on for too long, while her new parents waited patiently by the car.
Hope had never been a person of many words.
So instead of talking, we hugged.
All three of us—me, Hope, and Lily—arms tangled together, holding on like letting go might undo everything. Hope felt tense at first, then slowly relaxed, like she was memorizing the moment.
After a few seconds, she finally spoke.
"I'm going to miss y'all," she said quietly. "I'll try to keep writing to the two of you. And I promise we'll see each other again one day, okay?"
As she finished speaking, her main eyes dropped to the ground—but the rest of them stayed locked on us. I could see tears building in several of them, glistening where the light caught just right.
And for one of the first times I could remember…
I wasn't freaked out by them.
That was just how she was.
I stepped forward without thinking and tried my best to wipe away some of the tears scattered across her body. There were too many, honestly, and I ended up moving my hands around at random.
…I was definitely going at random.
After a moment, Lily joined in, carefully brushing tears away with practiced gentleness. Between the two of us, we must've looked ridiculous—but eventually, it worked. A small giggle slipped out of Hope, soft and surprised, like it had escaped before she could stop it.
That made my chest hurt in the best and worst way.
But all good things come to an end.
Her new parents approached, kind and careful, and guided her toward the car. They helped her inside, closing the door with a quiet finality that made everything feel suddenly real.
As the car began to pull away, something twisted hard in my stomach.
I knew—knew—that if I didn't say something now, I'd regret it forever.
Without thinking, I reached inward and pulled on an emitter-type aspect—borrowing from bats. Not the echo part. Just the amplification. Just enough.
"I promise we'll see each other again, Hope!" I yelled, my voice carrying farther than it ever should have. "And when we do, I'll be a hero! I'll be someone who takes away the struggles we face—I promise!"
With the bat-enhanced projection, I was pretty sure everyone within a few blocks heard me.
I didn't care.
As the car drove away, Hope turned around in her seat.
And for just a moment, I saw it—a small smile spreading across her face as she looked back at me.
That was enough.