A/N: On one of the tumblrs I run, Twinings and I offered ourselves up for one full week of filling fic prompts for our readers, varying in length from a hundred to a thousand-plus words. The project has been dubbed the Free For All Fic For All—or FFAFFA for short. This is one of those stories—and this is the boilerplate author's note you'll see on all of 'em.

Prompt: Killer Moth meets his fangirl stalker.


January

The first letter arrives at Blackgate Penetentiary, addressed to Drury Walker, a.k.a. Cameron Van Cleer, a.k.a. Killer Moth, Esquire in a round, looping script.

The 'i' in Killer Moth is dotted with a heart.

A few other inmates get wind of the letter and make fun of him, stealing it from him in the chow line. Some do more than that.

He spends three days in the infirmary.

February

A box of chocolates arrives for Drury on Valentine's Day, opened and half empty.

"Had to confiscate some of 'em," the guard says with mock sympathy upon delivery, "can't have any of you undesirables getting ahold of any substances that might be dangerous when combined, you know."

He gets to eat one—maple fudge, not very good—before his cellmate twists his arm and takes the rest.

The sprained wrist will heal.

March

A care package arrives with a brand new toothbrush, some non-prison issue soap and a book.

His cellmate takes the toothbrush, intent on fashioning a shiv.

The guards take the book; 'incendiary material', they call it.

The soap is stolen in the showers.

The prison dentist does what he can about the chipped tooth.

April

"Heard you had a phone call today, Walker," his least favorite guard, Ramsey, says as he saunters casually past his cell.

"I did? But—"

"Turns out you're on the no-call list." Ramsey smirks. "Can't be too careful with you costumed types. Had to turn the poor girl away."

"Girl?"

The guy in the cell across the way hasn't heard from his girlfriend in months. He takes his jealousy out on Drury in the yard.

All in all, the black eye isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

May

Another letter arrives. This one smells of Love's Baby Soft, fresh and clean and powdery. The envelope has been opened, of course, but at least this time he actually gets to take it out and look at it.

Dear Drury, it reads in sparkly magenta ink.

The next three lines have been blacked out with marker.

At least half the letter has been censored.

He hangs his head. At least the day can't get much worse.

The riot in the cafeteria later shows him otherwise.

Oh well. It wasn't like he was really using that unbroken leg anyhow.

June

A confused Drury is wheeled out to the visitation room on a balmy late June afternoon. The only signature on his cast is in the form of a tiny stick figure in a feathered hat wielding a sword with a speech balloon proclaiming "What ho, ye knaves!" that mysteriously appeared after a nap in the infirmary. The list of suspects is short: Mortimer Drake was on bed pan duty the day before.

"This one is persistent," the guard says, pushing him right into the table, sending splinters of pain up through Drury's leg. "She's been pushin' to see you for months, now."

Drury has no idea what he's talking about.

The chair across from him is empty, but doesn't remain so for long.

A lovely girl who must be barely eighteen breezes into the visitation room in a dress printed with sunflowers. The other prisoners waiting for their families look at her, then at Drury, then back again as she takes a seat.

"Hello, Drury."

He blinks stupidly. "What?"

"I said hello, silly," she says with a sly smile, fixing sparkling green eyes on him. "Didn't you get my letters?"

"Letters?" The pieces start to fall into place. "The ones with the perfume?"

"Yes."

"So the chocolates and the soap? That was you?"

She blushes and turns aside coyly. "Yes, that was me."

Drury panics. "Stay away!"

"But Drury, I want to be your friend."

"I don't need a friend like you!" He motions frantically to the guard. "Get me out of here!"

"But…I wrote you so many times…I…"

"You almost got me killed!" he shouts. "Psychopath!"

She bursts into tears. "But I thought…prisoners are always so lonely, and I thought…"

Every inmate in the room with a sister, a girlfriend, wife or daughter gives Drury a menacing look that says "How can you make such a pretty girl cry?"

Only once he sees their reaction does he realize his mistake.

The concussion isn't so bad, really.