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andreafmn · 1 year

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Swinging By | Peter Parker

Word Count: 2.5K Pairing: Peter Parker [Earth 199999] x Female!Reader Requested: Yes [@spideysbaby: "Maybe a spiderman (tom) sneaking in your room thinking it's his sense your his neighbor"] A/N: Hope I did the request justice... even if I did post it really late 😬😬 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffeeTikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Swinging By | Peter Parker One Shot

Being Spiderman was hard work.

Being Spiderman as a teenager that was still in high school was even harder.

And Peter Parker was tired. More like exhausted.

Of course, he enjoyed the role of superhero and getting to save people —he’d never take for granted having been bit by that radioactive spider. Still, he couldn’t help the fatigue that ransacked his body after every long day that passed.

He wished it was easier. That he had an endless supply of energy he could distribute whichever way he saw fit. He would have enough for his friends, for Aunt May, the city of New York… maybe even for (Y/N), his downstairs neighbor, and the girl that filled his mind every hour of the day.

He had seen her around the building. The very first time, she quickly caught his eye. It was the day her family had moved in. Peter had been too shy to say hi. He watched as the three of them walked in and out of the building with boxes in their hands, following the movers up and down the stairs.

Peter had wanted to help them. But for some reason, his limbs had gone numb and he couldn’t bring himself to approach them. Any of them. He simply watched as they moved back and forth in the building until they disappeared into their new home. It was clear that he had missed his chance to introduce himself to the girl that was wearing a sweater from the New York Hall of Science.

But May was always one step ahead and she had seen the longing stares her nephew would give to the girl every time she walked by. The boy had everything going for him. All he needed was a little push. And who better than his aunt to give it to him?

May had made a batch of “homemade” cookies –which meant she had bought premade dough and followed the instructions– for the new neighbors. Conveniently, she had to run out to the office on a saturday morning and couldn’t drop them off, leaving Peter to take care of the task.

“But, can’t you just leave it at their door with a note?” Peter whined as he felt anxiety bubbling in his body. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it regardless.”

“Oh, come on, Peter,” she chuckled as she struggled to put on her heels. “You swing from building to building and face aliens and magicians and criminals every day. I don’t think handing your neighbors a plate of cookies could compare.”

“But…”

“Peter, I just need you to do this one thing for me, please,” she smiled sweetly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Alright, fine,” the boy finally resigned. “See you tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” May called as she left through the door. “See you tonight.”

Peter had stared intently at the seran-wrapped plate in his hands, hoping he had developed teleportation powers in his sleep. He could already feel the knot of anxiety pushing against the walls of his throat, constricting sounds and air back. He couldn’t face her, not without making a fool of himself —something he could be sure of without his spidey senses.

He had decided to take the stairs, walking slower than humanly possible. But he wanted the time to build his confidence. He had been the Spider-Man for a little over eight months but he had met his match in the form of a girl his own age.

Before he had known, he had reached apartment 2F. The door was mocking him, teasing his cowardice and nervousness. All he had to do was raise his fist and knock on the door.

“Get it together, Parker,” he spoke to himself in a hushed tone. “Just knock. All you have to do is knock on the door, leave the cookies, and go, nothing more. Just get it together. She might not even be there. It could just be her parents. Why are you so scared? It could just be her…”

“Can I help you?” A honey-laced voice broke him out of his trance as the door in front of him swung open. Her smile was as sweet as her voice and seeing her in passing did not compare to perusing her face at that moment. “You’re our upstairs neighbor; right?”

“Uh, uh,” he stammered as his train of thought broke. “Yes. Neighbor. Me.”

“Yes. Neighbor. You,” she chuckled. “I’ve seen you around. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. I’m (Y/N).”

“Pretty,” he sighed contentedly. But as soon as he noticed the words that had left his mouth, his whole face had gone red. “I mean, your name is pretty. Not that you’re not pretty, but I was talking about your name.”

“I figured,” she smiled warmly. “And yours is?”

“Oh, it’s Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

“Well, Peter Parker, may I ask why you were rambling in our Ring camera for a minute or two?” (Y/N) questions kindly. “Not that I’d mind seeing a cute guy talking to himself at my front door.”

If it had been possible for his face to grow redder, it had. He was sure he had turned the same shade as a tomato. “Yes, cookies,” he scrambled for his answer. His hand extended quickly, showing her that he wasn’t some creep at her door. He had brought a treat. “My aunt baked them to welcome you and your family to the building.”

“That’s so nice of you,” she beamed. “And normally I’d invite you in and share them with you, but we’re actually on our way out.”

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to impose either way/”

“You could never, Peter Parker,” she had smiled brightly at him. “But you should definitely come over soon. Might be some cookies left. Or I could make some brownies and send them your way.”

“I love brownies!” Peter answered enthusiastically. “And I might just take you up on your offer someday soon.”

“You better,” she had responded teasingly. “I’ll see you around the building then, Peter.”

“See you around, (Y/N).”

Seeing her around had turned into almost every other afternoon. And the building had turned into seeing her almost everywhere, including Midtown School of Science and Technology. Any free time he could find all he wanted was to spend it with (Y/N) – even if everything in his life was against it. The more he wanted to see her, the more the universe seemed to throw obstacles his way. A spike in criminality, another school project, Tony Stark calling him to the Avengers tower, everything that kept him from spending more time with her.

And everything had made him more and more tired.

For almost a month straight of coming home late at night, almost blind from exhaustion. His body had gone into auto-pilot. He would sneak into his room through his window, slip off his mask, and crash onto his bed to get at least three to four hours of sleep before he had to be up once more to do it all again. Peter could have made it into his bedroom with his eyes closed.

Something he shouldn’t have attempted to do even if he could.

It had been a rather debilitating night. He could feel the warmth of blood pooling on his forehead, his muscles were tight and sore, his leg was throbbing, and all he wanted to do was sink into his bed and pass out for a week.

Peter climbed the fire escape slowly, his eyes closed as he counted in his head the three flights of stairs that would lead him to his bedroom. His window gave him more trouble than normal, getting stuck halfway, something it had never done before. And when he slipped into his bedroom, he found it was darker than usual. But, all he wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep.

He slipped off his mask, wincing as the fabric stuck slightly to the cut on his face. Once the cover-up was off, he finally took in the room he was in. Quickly enough, he noted it was not his. Where his bunk beds would be, rested a full bed with black and gold bedding. The desk that would normally be covered with figurines and papers was replaced by a neatly organized surface. And he definitely would have remembered hanging vines and string lights on his wall.

“Uh, Peter?” His eyes went as big as saucers as he figured whose room he was actually standing in. “What the hell?”

The boy turned around quickly, feeling a sense of deja vu from when his aunt had found out his secret identity. He did his best to shield his suit, putting his brain into overdrive to come up with a plausible excuse for standing in the middle of her room dressed like New York’s one and only Spiderman.

“I, uh,” he stammered. “I can explain.”

“Peter, you’re hurt,” she gasped as she turned on the lights in her room. “Sit. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Peter was dumbfounded. He was expecting her to freak out like Ned, or curse at him like aunt May. Instead, (Y/N) seemed far more worried about the cuts on his face than the fact that he was a secret superhero.

He took a seat on her desk chair, placing a discarded towel he’d found in her laundry basket, too afraid of staining her furniture. As he waited for her to come back, his eyes studied her room. His gaze fell upon a bundle of pined pictures on her wall, specifically on a picture from the month before.

They had spontaneously decided one afternoon to go to Central Park with Ned and MJ. They had walked, they had laughed, they had eaten ice cream, and, unbeknownst to him, MJ had snapped a picture of them as (Y/N) cleaned a drip of strawberry ice cream from his chin. But what stood out to him was the way her eyes shined as she looked at him. It was a gaze he had never noticed before on her.

“Got it,” she breathed as she came back into the room. “I just hope it’s enough. It doesn’t look that deep.”

(Y/N) settled before him, quickly going to work on cleaning his face. She poured alcohol onto a cotton pad, using the softest touch to not hurt him more than he already was. Her concentration zoned in on every cut, making sure not a single one was left behind.

Peter couldn’t help but memorize her face. The way her tongue peaked out slightly from her lips, the small furrow of her brows, and the little scrunch of her nose. He could have stared at her for the rest of time and he would have been okay with that.

“Alright,” she sighed. “All done. Is there any other wound concealed in this onesie?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think so,” he chuckled. “My body might just be insanely bruised.”

“Do you need some ice?” (Y/N) worriedly asked. “Might not have enough for your whole body but I have enough for the most important areas.”

“I’m okay,” he smiled. Peter stared curiously at her. They had spent over twenty minutes together and she had yet to mention the biggest elephant in the room –she didn’t give any indication that she would do so. “(Y/N), why, uh, why aren't you freaking out?”

“I did. There was visible blood on your face but it’s gone now.”

“No, (Y/N). I’m talking about the whole Spiderman thing,” he pointed. “You’ve barely reacted to the fact that I’m standing before you, dressed as Spiderman, with wounds on my face.”

(Y/N) did something that he had not expected. She laughed. “I’ve known for a while now, Peter,” she said. “You might be quiet and sneaky when you’re out catching bad guys and saving the world, but you leave all your stealthiness in the street. Once you’re home, you tend to make a lot of noise. I saw you one time when I couldn’t sleep. I had been staring out my window trying to find anything to tire my eyes when I saw a flash of red and blue land on the fire escape. Don’t think Spiderman would have too much business with you, so I just assumed.”

“So you saw me… as Spiderman?” Peter confirmed. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn't feel like it was my place,” she shrugged. “I wanted to wait until you trusted me enough to tell me.”

“I do trust you,” he whispered, afraid that she would take his secrecy incorrectly. “I just… I just wanted to keep you separate from all of this. I don’t know what I would do if I put you in danger. I care about you, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” she smiled before she noted the underlying sentiment behind Peter’s brown eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he chuckled. Peter then tested the waters, standing from the chair and getting closer to her. “I’ve wanted to get closer to you whilst keeping you at arm’s length in order to protect you because I know just how dangerous it is to even be associated with me. All I’ve wanted is to keep you safe.”

“Is it corny to say I can keep myself safe?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking his hands in hers. “I know it’s crazy but anything is worth it if I can… get closer to you.”

“I would never let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Even if I had to sleep outside your window every night.”

(Y/N) chuckled softly, releasing one of his hands to place a comforting palm on his cheek. “I don’t need your protection, Peter,” she said, her fingers tracing his features. “I need you safe. And well-rested. You look tired.”

“I am,” he confessed with a sigh, closing his eyes at the warmth of her hand. “But, for you, I would never sleep again.”

“I would rather you sleep, Peter,” the girl responded. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit? I’ll get you a shirt and some sweatpants. Wouldn’t want you stumbling around in a Spiderman suit and all exhausted like that.”

“Honestly, I cannot deny that request,” Peter chuckled. “I don’t think I could make it up the fire escape tonight. But, I do want to do something before.”

“What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked meekly.

“Please,” she breathed.

With a smile, he closed all distance between them and placed his lips onto hers. He reveled in the warmth of her lips, enjoying the softness and plumpness of them. It was everything he had daydreamed of for months on end… except the suit… and the wounds… and the sluggishness. Other than for those things, it was perfect.

“Want me to get those clothes now?” (Y/N) chuckled as they broke the kiss. “I think you should rest for a bit.”

“Only if we can kiss some more after.”

“We can kiss any time you swing by,” she grinned. “I might just keep leaving my window unlocked for you.”

Taglist: @winter-soldier-101 @zheezs14 @clementinesjourney @dyslexiccatterpillar @cevans-winchester @sirenheadenby @sunsetcurvej @sapnapsbandana @skyesthebomb @esposadomd @this-is-a-bad-idea @nocturnalherb16 @blueshoelaces @then-worship-at-my-altar @six-call @yuki254 @nyenye @lunaOoO @avis15 @captainrogers-19 @honeylovemoon @wonieeee @supernaturalwriter @beckiej0073-blog @cecehensonn @krazyk99 @klf1999 @ilikepunsbeth @magimtz23 @adaydreamaway08 @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @thatgirljayy @laylaskywalker @fandomonetwo @fruitylilfuck @a-slut-for-loki-bucky @monbrss @honeywxter @haroldpotterson @kaita11 @gangstalicious06 @uwunuggetchan @elijahssuit @multifandomreader73 @shara-ne @blackloveangel13 @euphoria1992 @saltedcoffeescotch @thecollectorofwords @gabi-princesada1d @zealouscookierebeltrash @sleepilysworld @aonungsfreak @treatiseofselena @brittany-appleyard24 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @smolalien13 @jstarr86 @mzmarvel22 @itsmytimetodream @ivory-raptor @unstablekay @druigsluver29

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xoxo-ren-xoxo · 4 months

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What the hell is going on with those eyes, huh? (A hc359 update)

Confused? Find the Masterpost here, and read the first four installments in the series before this one! In this installment, I try my best to make Grian's life as miserable as possible!

CW: discussions of death, surgery, medical equipment, body horror, mild dehumanisation (accidental(?))

So, despite Cub doing research and experiments on that fun little wall with eyes in the Hermethus' hidden storage, Grian is the only one who actually touched those eyes when he discovered them. He just relayed the fact that it gave her an electric shock to the others so they avoided touching it.

Several weeks have passed since Grian talked to mission command, and those several weeks have been... painful. The crew is being unfriendly and uncooperative, barely keeping the place together as they drift further into deep space. Worst of all, Grian's arm has been hurting like hell, and she just can't figure out why.

Not that she talks to Scar or Cub about it, or asks Mumbo for any medical information or any scans. She is quite content to never talk to them again, actually. They probably all hate her for keeping secrets from them.

And then, one day, Grian wakes up to find small raised bumps across her arm, barely visible but as uncomfortable as ever. It's weird, but he assumes it's some kind of allergic reaction or a side effect of being in space for too long. Something that will go away. But, pressing on the little bumps and feeling the skin of her arm, she notices how solid the raised areas are. Kind of squishy, but solid.

It's not itchy, more like growing pains mixed with pins and needles. And the feeling goes deep, into the muscle and bones. Like something is latching itself into him, taking root.

(That is exactly what's happening, but Grian does not know this, and so she says nothing)

Eventually, the bumps across his arm start to form cracks on the skin, which look like faint scars at first but then become deeper, clear indications of eyelids. These developments happen so fast Grian barely has time to contemplate telling someone. She even hides it from Mumbo's camera-eyes.

Then, the eyes begin to open, and Grian thinks maybe he messed up.

It's not like she can see out of them... most of the time. But it's freaky. And what if more start spawning? What if they are, under the skin where he can't see? Hundreds of eyes growing inside her? She's scared the crew will mutiny, or something, because of the obvious alien infection, but he can't stay quiet now. He has to tell them...

She hides it, still, for a few more days, wrapping her arm with bandages. The fabric feels horrific against the freshly-sprouted eyes, especially because she can't control when they open or close. It makes her nauseous just looking at them. She can only tolerate it for so long.

A crew meeting is called. Grian just rips off the proverbial band-aid all at once and hopes for the best, absolutely terrified that the crew will turn against him even further.

The first reaction is a sort of general shock. But then, surprisingly fast, the crew go straight into Science Mode. Scar is a biologist, Cub has been running experiments on the wall-eyes, Mumbo... well, he's still kind of mad at Grian, actually, but he's also an AI with access to all the knowledge of humanity (sort of) so he starts searching for similar cases in old medical files.

Scar is very curious in a practical kind of way. He asks if the eyes can see, if they're connected to anything, if they have their own nervous systems, etc. Cub really wants to run some tests. and Grian feels more like a specimen than a person at that point, so she agrees and lets Cub take him to the lab. Scar wants to tag along but Cub doesn't let him, telling him to stay put and let them know if the ship starts exploding or anything crazy.

It's... not too long before Cub grabs a scalpel and tries prying one of the eyes out. No warning or anything. Grian screams and slaps him in the face. Serves him right.

They have some painkillers stocked up, so Cub offers those to Grian because he... really wants to do a bit of a vivisection, to be honest. Really wants to get under the skin and see what's happening. He just momentarily forgot that Grian can feel pain. Silly mistake to make, of course.

It takes some convincing, but Grian hesitantly agrees to a short operation. She's still awake during the procedure, though he's drowsy and her arm is numb. There's a little bed surface to lay down on, so she doesn't fall over or anything. Cub is relatively careful, making an incision on the skin and looking inside with a mini camera - taking scans as he does so - before sewing the wound up and moving on to an eye. It will be easier to analyse in isolation, as well as better to see whether it dies or not when separated from Grian's body.

The eye is cut away cleanly, and in an instant Grian is shocked with pain, riveting up her arm like fire. She lashes out with no control, hitting Cub in the side of the head. Something inside her, something that isn't her, screams in pain and anger.

His vision flashes between normal sight and the shattered dozen perspectives of the eyes... including the one so neatly cut from her flesh. In the moment, he feels like he's dying. Life draining away, slowly but still too fast.

Later, he realises the feeling came from the severed eye, as it was dying. But even knowing this, inside her something is broken. Missing. Dead.

Grian relays that she might be, uh, innately connected to the eyes now. He's like 'bad news i think cub killed a part of me' (and Mumbo gets to make a sassy remark about being dead) and thus things are more complicated.

They dont know whether the eyes are malicious, or invasive, or symbiotic. Scar wants to do some research into that. He specialises in animal behavioural phenomenons and is really interested in what kind of relationship the eyes have to Grian- are they like fish or barnacles attaching themselves to sharks? Are they more like parasitic worms? Are they trying to feed on Grian and eat away her body? Trying to become one with her?

This is all really interesting to Scar. I mean, he also wants Grian to be safe, and they need to know whether they should remove the rest of the eyes or not, but... it's a bit of excitement in an otherwise particularly doomed trip.

Overall, Grian feels like her very obvious depressive cycle might be about to get worse, but at least the crew are talking to her. Even if it's just because she's a new thing to experiment on...

Remember when she used to have authority? Yeah, she doesn't really miss it either.

#ben chats shit on the internet #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hc359 au #grian #grianmc #transfem grian

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thestrangeillusion · 4 months

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a get to know you better meme

Ahhh this took me more than a month to get around to doing, but I didn’t forget about it!! Thank you so much for tagging me @dummerjan! <3 <3 <3

do you make your bed? No, I don’t really see the point tbh, I’ll only be messing it up in the evening again anyway.

what's your favourite number? Umm, 7 I think? There’s not a particular reason for it though. I do have a soft spot for 21 as well for entirely SKAM related reasons haha.

what is your job? I do scientific evaluations of (primarily) government programmes.

If you could go back to school would you? Hmm, there’s some appeal to that because I didn’t hate school and the structure and routine of it was mostly good for me, I think. But the thought of being a teenager again and being cooped up in a room with 25+ other teenagers for a minimum of 30 hours a week – no, thank you. But if school is meant in the way US-Americans sometimes use it, as in also meaning further education, then I could be convinced. I mean, I still have to write my master’s thesis, so I’m technically still a student, but I sometimes think re-doing my first couple of years of undergrad (and maybe making some better decisions lol) could be fun.

can you parallel park? Nope, I can’t even really drive anymore, I’m pretty sure, even though I do have a licence. It’s more of a glorified ID at this point because I haven’t actually driven a car in like 4 years or so and even before that I honestly wasn’t very good at it (driving or parking).

a job you had that would surprise people? Not really tbh.

do you think aliens are real? I mean I am pretty sure there are forms of life on other planets, since some of them have been found to have inhabitable environments. If it’s intelligent life I don’t really feel qualified to say although, if I remember correctly, one of my good friends who’s doing a PhD in astrophysics and is one of the smartest people I know once made a pretty convincing argument for it (but I have since forgotten what the argument was lol).

can you drive a manual car? Refer to the question about parallel parking above. I learned to drive in a manual car (I’ve actually never driven an automatic), but I’m fairly sure I don’t actually know how to do it anymore.

what's your guilty pleasure? That’s a difficult question. Reading fucked up smut fics is definitely one of them, I guess. Also does pissing away many of my weekends by staying in bed all day and reading or writing fanfics instead of putting effort into having a social life count? Because I also do that and I do enjoy it, but it’s painful whenever anyone asks what I did on the weekend lol. There’s only so many times you can say “Nothing much” tbh.

tattoos? I like them on other people, mostly. My cousin has a full back tattoo in colour and is slowly adding onto it so that it expands to her arms and sides and I always love seeing which new piece she’s gotten tattooed since I last saw her. It just suits her really well and she’s super passionate about the motive and I love that. And I think that’s where the problem lies for me, I just don’t have any motive or phrase or whatever that I am passionate enough about to permanently put on my body tbh. Also, I am scared of pain and needles, so…

favourite colour? Burgundy.

favourite type of music? Ooof that’s hard to answer, I listen to so many different types of music. One genre I’ve liked pretty consistently from my early teens until now is (mostly British) indie rock and alternative rock – I really like Muse, Placebo, Arctic Monkeys, The Libertines and Nothing But Thieves, for example. And I’ve been to quite a few tiny club concerts of that genre because I know I’ll enjoy it even if I don’t know the band or any of their songs beforehand.

And then I also go through intense music phases mostly related to TV shows I love – it started when I was like 13 watching Gossip Girl and obsessively listening to Death Cab for Cutie, Bloc Party and Sum 41 to when I watched SKAM and got very into Norwegian music (the Norwegian singer/rapper Cezinando still features consistently in my top Spotify artists and has done so since 2017). And now that I’m watching Thai BLs, I started with an obsession about Jeff Satur’s music (and listened to nothing else for like 2 months) and am now gradually venturing out into discovering other Asian music (I’m really enjoying WOODZ, Hua Chen Yu and Violette Wautier so far). So that was a lot of rambling, but still barely covers half of what I actually love listening to…

do you like puzzles? I haven’t done puzzles in aaages, but I have very fond childhood memories of doing them with my grandparents on NYE while waiting for midnight. I think I would still enjoy them if I did them now.

any phobias? Not really. Stuff I’m pretty scared of, sure, but no full-blown phobias.

favourite childhood sport? Hmm, in terms of the sports we played in school, I really enjoyed “Völkerball” (which I’m pretty sure vaguely translates to dodgeball, but I don’t think it’s entirely the same thing). The only problem was that I was really good at dodging the ball and never getting hit, but very, very bad at catching the ball or hitting other people with it, so I could never actually end the game by taking out people on the other team either.

I only started in my teens, but I also really enjoyed (and still enjoy) climbing and bouldering. And my family went skiing every winter when I was a child, which I hated at first, but started to enjoy in my early teens when I didn’t have to do lessons with a bunch of other kids tumbling down the mountain anymore.

do you talk to yourself? All the time in my mind, and sometimes out loud when I’m on my own (particularly when I’m frustrated about something).

what movie(s) do you adore? I actually really love heartwarming feel-good movies tbh. One of my favourite movies is Pride (2014) because it just radiates so much joy and solidarity and a will to live and make things better that always lifts my mood. And I can’t even tell you the amount of times I’ve rewatched Mamma Mia. Another genre of movies I seem to enjoy is movies about female rage a.k.a. women going batshit crazy but being totally justified in it, such as Promising Young Woman or Gone Girl. I do generally prefer watching TV shows to movies, though.

coffee or tea? I get the jitters and become hyperactive in a really uncomfortable way when I drink coffee, so I rarely do. I mostly drink black tea or Mate for the purpose of waking me up.

first thing you wanted to be growing up? Well, according to old friendship book entries, I first wanted to be a princess (until my mum bought me a book about the Habsburgs and I quickly abandoned the idea, which I think was the point) and after that a cook.

Tagging @crumchycow, @mightymightygnomepriest, @salamander89, @fiddlepickdouglas, @obscurecurse

and @lilmaemae and anyone else who wants to do it 😊

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curator-on-ao3 · 5 months

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Some character asks if you want to pick a character (or mix and match):

Favorite canon thing about this character?

If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

A relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Ooooh, thank you, anon! ❤️ Unsurprisingly, I want to answer for Una Chin-Riley.

Favorite canon thing about this character?

In terms of TOS, people say she’s unemotional — and I get that was the intent — but I actually love her emotion. I love how Chris reacts to her disappointment at being left off the landing party. I love her light sarcasm and irritation as she does the math on Vina’s real age. I love her defiance and general “do not fuck with me” energy as she sets her laser pistol to overload. She’s emotional while also being rational and smart. Absolutely brilliant.

In terms of Disco, I love how Una knows things she shouldn’t, how people owe her favors, how Chris trusts her to use her own methods to uncover the information they want. I love how she can predict what Chris is going to say and that she’s ready and adaptable for stuff because space is weird, man.

In terms of Short Treks, I love that she programmed the food synthesizers on Enterprise. Chris feeds the crew in his way and Una feeds the crew in hers.

In terms of Strange New Worlds, I love her longstanding friendships with Chris and La’an. I also keep friends for a long time, and it’s nice to see a character with that trait. I also like that she’s gained some level of acceptance for who she is, even though she shouldn’t have had to fight that fight.

If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Despite the listing above, plus reams of beta canon, I definitely have additions! I wish she had been in more of TOS, of course, and I also think she should have been in AOS … depending on what they would have done to her. (My trust isn’t the highest on that.)

A relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I admire how Una made clear her regrets and her willingness to do what she could to mend things in terms of her relationship with Neera. It’s complicated because their culture is alien and Una both benefitted from and was hurt by the hiding her parents chose to begin … but sometimes feelings need to come out so truth can be ascertained. And I really, really admire how Neera and Una both began to unpack feelings and truth to find their way back to some form of a positive relationship with each other.

If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Oh, man. I just checked and I have 26 fics for which Una is a tagged character. So, yeah, I love her, your honor. I suppose my favorite thing to do is to just let that love (hopefully) shine through. She’s flawed, as we all are. She’s also smart and loyal and strong and sassy … and fun to explore from a characterization standpoint. I wrote one fic in which she didn’t make a pass at Chris years before because she assumed he wouldn’t be good in bed, and he is kind of repressed so they’ll work on that. In my current WIP, Una is reasonably sure physical compatibility won’t be a problem with Chris but this time she’s the one who’s repressed — emotionally — from keeping her secrets for so long, so she and Chris need to fix that up. Flipping around inverse possibilities for different fics can be fun.

Something I don’t like? Ten episodes a season.

#i love asks #una chin riley #my beloved #thank you again for asking #anon #(asks seriously make my day y’all - feel free to send whenever)

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kookaburra1701 · 1 year

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WIP Wheneversday - Nostos

tagged by @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @paraparadigm @gilgamish and @changelingsandothernonsense

I am tagging @greyborn2 and @thana-topsy mainly because I've been screaming in Discord about my new OC so they get tags too. Also Khemor would likely have never existed in his final form without the absolutely inspiring works by @greyborn2 featuring Kesh gra-Bruma.

I just want everyone to know, this is all @mareenavee's fault. An "innocent" question about what Borgakh's ideal future would look like after Aristeia is done and suddenly 48 hours later I'm writing a sequel when I haven't even finished the second chapter???? I am a clown. This is me putting on my big red shoes and big red nose and honking a silly horn and squirting a flower all over my massive WIP pile.

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera])

Category: M/F

Genre(s): Romance

Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven, Thane of Eastmarch and The Pale, Last Dragonborn, Vanquisher of Alduin, Confidant of the High King of Skyrim, and disgraced former Magus of the College of Whispers thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a papercut for the rest of his life. When Jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of the woman of his dreams. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

The pain was blinding. Khemor's knees buckled, and Borgakh made a noise of fear and started forward as if to catch him but Serana was faster, her shoulder under his arm, one knee bracing his leg.

"No, keep your hands on it!" Khemor hissed through gritted teeth. Borgakh's hands tightened over his, pressing them into the soul gem.

Magicka burned its way down his arms, dammed behind his palms, searching for a way into the rough, uncut gem.

There it is! All soul gems had a natural entry point, almost always obliterated in the process of faceting them. But if you had a natural, uncut gem, and the talent and patience to find the entry point, the soul would flow into it effortlessly, like a river finding the sea.

The pain faded as the flow of magicka -- the flow of his soul-- was released into the stone. It left behind an acute weariness, and despite Serana's support Khemor sank to his knees. Borgakh still clasped his hands around the soul gem, and he looked up into her eyes.

The naked fear they held was so alien to him in the context of her features that he almost reached out automatically to touch her face, to reassure her. But she was not concerned with herself, she was fearful for him. And there was no reassurance he could give that he would be alright.

"Khemor, that's enough," Serana's voice cut through the spell Borgakh's eyes had held him in. He cut off the flow of magicka into the stone. A chill had settled in his chest, as if cold hands were gripping his heart. But as he withdrew from the stone, leaving it cradled in Borgakh's hands, the sharpness of the cold diminished, as if he was huddled next to a small fire in a snowstorm.

"Oh!" she said in surprise. "It's...warm. It's like a heartbeat."

Khemor reached up, and covered her hands with his own, he looked into her face beseechingly. "You hold my heart and soul in your hands, Borgakh the Steel-Heart. Please," his voice dropped into a husky whisper. "Please don't let them break." He pushed the stone against her chest. "Keep them safe."

The kindness and determination in her face as she nodded sent another bloom of fleeting warmth that forced the chill farther away from his heart.

The hardness of the flagstones against his shins brought Khemor back to himself, and the fact that he was on his knees, gripping Borgakh's hands, staring into her eyes and begging her to take care of his heart. He forced himself to release her, and accepted Serana's assistance to rise shakily to his feet.

Leaning on his staff, Khemor faced the swirling, violet abyss that yawned below them, the steps leading into it like a narrow tongue inviting him into the maw of Oblivion. He could not meet Borgakh's eyes, but as she carefully opened her gambeson and placed the now-glowing soul gem into an inner pocket, next to her heart, a peace settled over him. No matter what awaited him on the other side of the portal, his soul was with Borgakh.

As he placed his foot upon the threshold of the steps, a hand gripped his arm. Khemor didn't turn, but reached up to cover it with his own.

"Return safely to me, Khemor gro-Skaven."

Khemor said nothing, but took Borgakh's hand in his and with a final squeeze shared between them, let her fingers slip from his as he descended the stairs into the realm of the Ideal Masters.

#hot orc summer #fic: nostos #oc: khemor gro-skaven #skyrim fanfiction #kb writes #it's not easy being green #wip wednesday #skyrim #tesblr

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cowboybrunch · 4 months

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:3 soooo I have this sudden burning need to know everything you can tell me about Rosalie before your wrists give out. Can I trouble you for an infodump? Her tagged posts are great but I want to crack her open like a coconut.

i would LOVE to infodump about her!!! thank you for the ask!!! <3

let's start with some fun facts:

she's actually my oldest oc! in the original ORIGINAL draft of botrd (which was never completed and 80% of it was scrapped) the entire thing was in her pov! the story was more focused on her journey through grief

of all of the women in the story, she is the least violent and most soft-spoken (though she does have her moments) but this doesn't make her weak. i love a "badass female mc" as much as the next person but i really wanted her to highlight a quieter form of strength

her backstory:

her mother died in a freak accident car crash while she was in the car on their way to her grandparents' house. she was around 10 years old at this point. in the original draft, she has recurring nightmares about this moment (a defunct excerpt):

Goosebumps raised on her arms, and she opened her eyes to see dark clouds rolling towards them. She tried to speak, but the sound caught in her throat. Despite the windows being down, she couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly, it was pouring rain, the water soaking her clothes and the space on the seat that her body didn’t cover. Her mom kept driving, kept singing as if nothing had changed.

fast forwarding to the events of the current draft (switched to first person present tense), we begin with another death: her best friend Andrew

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I would ask him. “Do you believe in God? Do you think we’ll be okay?” Yes, no, maybe. He would never hesitate to answer, never tell me that I was being silly or that I should worry less. He would ask me, “Do you believe in parallel universes? Do you believe in aliens? Do you ever want to run away?” No, yes, maybe.

since she's been so "involved with death," she has the unique ability to sense Mortae when others can't— meaning she can see them when she shouldn't be able to, and her ears ring when they're communicating telepathically

“I don’t know why you can see me. You’re not meant to. I didn’t do anything to the camera. It caught what was visible, and I was not— am not visible."

That awful high-pitched noise sounds in my ears, louder this time, and it’s all I can do not to throw my hands over them. I do not want to add tinnitus to my growing list of unsolvable problems.

aaaand some rapid fire info about her

callsign "sacrificial lamb"

loves rom-coms

has debilitating insomnia

inquisitive, kind (most of the time, she tries her best), stubborn

first chapter in her pov is called "It's not a superstition if it's true"

her self-doubt puts her in many sticky situations. she needs to trust her gut!!!

favorite flower is daffodils (even tho they're technically a weed) because she likes knowing what people would wish for

biggest fear: being a stranger to the people she loves

she really is just a girl trying to heal and learn to live with grief, and she gets roped into this eternal war between Death and Theodore and becomes a catalyst for his ascension... justice for Rosalie!!!

taglist! (ask to be +/-)

@vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @fortunatetragedy @autism-purgatory @rosesonneptune @cartoonghosts

@dyrewrites @whoevenknowswhatimwriting

#asks answered #thanks for asking about her she is very special to me #very 'she should be at the club'#burden of the reluctant death #oc: rosalie

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ccaptain · 21 days

Note

☀ What’s your rp pet peeve?

cracks my knuckles -- Anonymous

Immature ways of non-communication to communicate.

Passive-aggressiveness, if used as a method, will put you in so many weird situations it's not even going to be funny or satisfying when used. Particulary, it's not going to work and will just make things more complicated- and it will piss people who know how to healthily communicate off.

Me first of all, because I'm trained to recognize it.

Once I am fed up with being consistently jabbed at, cold-shouldered or any other methods involved in this weird, parasocial communication, I will warn you, once, that I'm aware of the passive-aggressiveness being thrown at me, I have aknowledged it, and will be the first to open a channel of communication where we can talk without weird tip-tapping around eachother. Otherwise, I refuse to address it unless there's direct communication between me and the other person that allows us to either tackle the problem even if we don't come to a solution or we actually solve it.

I'm never going to feel guilty for taking away a person's options to be aknowledged while employing these sort of stuff until the little dusty button that says COMMUNICATE AND TALK is the only one left. I expect the handling of a conflict to be mature.

As long as you're open to come to me and tell me ''sam, we have a problem we need to talk about'' and it's explained to me what this problem is, I will do my very best to sit down with you and try to come up with a solution that helps us both. The older I grow, the more weird and time-wasting any other methods of communications that dance around the subject seem to me. Not to mention that often it's a pointless thing, as neurodivergent folks like me don't ''get'' hints and have to be talked to. If you DO grab and tell me ''sam, I want to communicate but I am not ready to do that yet'' I will give you as much time as you need, as words are pretty hard sometimes.

Have I done something to upset you? Best bet is that you come at me first, so I can realize I did and apologize. Are we shipping, and you've lost interest and would like some space until you can summon it again? Come tell me, so we can set boundaries for the time being. I didn't tagged something properly? Shoot me a message to help me correct it!

As someone who, in her early teenager years, used passive-aggressiveness for a while as a form of communication when she was upset: jabbing, growing colder towards a person thinking that they know why you're doing it, refusing to engage with them without a clear explanation, etc. are all things that hurt and confuse the other person and push them to grow apart from you. I never obtained anything by being passive-aggressive or giving the cold shoulders to people if not to alienate and make them distrustful of you. If you pick this road first, there's the possibility that, once you're ready to properly communicate, the person won't want to hear you out and you'll lose a friendship.

I will repeat myself that, if there's a problem I'm involved with, I'm open to discuss about it in order to find a solution.

I can't force you to communicate with me. But, if being passive-aggressive is the preferred method of communication you choose to use, I will slowly close any channel of communication that we have and make myself unavailable for my own comfort. And that's a stance I'm not backing out of, nor softening or making concessions about.

I will not engage in anything else that is straight up talking about it, nor I will be dragged into this weird trend that morphed the word ''self-care'', something to describe maybe skincare routine or curating your internet space to cater to your comfort or interests, into something that validates people that are already trash at communicating to continue avoiding getting better at that and bringing harm to other people by refusing to communicate properly.

#from another realm ━ (ooc)#i come from a rpc where passive-aggressiveness was everydays bread and butter. it wasn't fun #im SO glad i get to talk about this.

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werdlewrites · 9 months

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masterlist-ao3-kofi-twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, and reblogs!

summary: “Kind of bullshit, isn’t it?” She looks to the other for her thoughts, but Autumn waits in silence, watching as crystal blues fill with sorrow once more, before shaking away the hurt. “We’re just… Expected t’go back t’normal. Like nothing’s happened. Like Barb isn’t gone. warnings: cursing as always, ptsd, bullying, mentions of death and mourning, steve is soft wc: 3,295

November 22nd is Autumn’s second day back to school. It’s the same as the day prior—a new schedule she hadn’t been quite used to as Steve sits out in his warmed car, waiting for her. He says it’s for her sake—only doing what he thinks would help make this more comfortable. He acts like a lit candle in the dark, a comfort as she transitions into her old life while the new remains difficult to grasp. The world stares at the anomaly—their new-found closeness. Odd looks are cast, and mockery comes in the form of whistles and a twisted look in their eyes. She’s so painfully aware of it all, while he wears an oblivious grin as they walk together. He takes casual drags of his cigarette, finding himself carefree and unbothered by their surroundings. He pauses just before the doors, expecting the girl to stop just at his side as if he’s confessed the agreement he made with Hopper. But she continues on, already prying the door back so she may step through, and it sends him into a momentary panic. “Woah, woah!” The cigarette is stomped out, and he’s trailing after her like a lost puppy, a nervous chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Slow down, yeesh.” Autumn gives him a confused yet playful look—not truly understanding his need to be at her side, even now after he’s spilled his guts. Was it loneliness? No longer having a girlfriend to cozy up with or a boisterous group of toxic teens to distract from the ache. She’s not entirely used to it yet, and somehow it feels like she’s letting him tag along. Not that he’s acting as a shield against the ones seeking to hurt her.

She’s on autopilot once she’s at her locker, moving down the halls while Steve rambles on about what it’s been like since coming back. How he tries to put his all into the work but can’t help the feeling of something more important happening. “It’s just crazy, right? I mean, what are we even working for?” She can’t form the words as quickly as he needs, her lips pursed as she thinks it all over before he chimes in again. “There’s some weird, alien shit going on out there, and they want us t’learn about math.” He doesn’t notice the slowing of her pace, not realizing that the girl's focus has wandered elsewhere. “When am I ever going t’use calcu-?” He’s forced to come to a stop as his body collides with her back, and a rushed “Oh, shit, sorry" fumbles out of his mouth. But she doesn’t seem to hear him; her eyes are zeroed in on Jonathan’s locker, and the prints taped to the surface.

She finds Will’s face in black ink, his eyes bright and lively. The picture had been taken sometime before his disappearance, and the article was printed just after as the town began its search for the young boy. A red marker scribbles across his face, “Zombie,” and she can barely stomach the sight. It’s clear he hasn’t been back to this place, not yet drowning in their cruelty. Anger fuels the girl, storming across the remaining space for tense fingers to rip at the papers, shredding and bundling it all up for the nearby trash. “Assholes,” she mutters. “They’ll find anything t’talk about,” Steve tries to reassure, his body slumped against a locker door. “He’s just a boy. A boy, Steve.” There’s a look of guilt again—his eyes unable to meet her own as he works through a long list of mistakes, including the ones where he dragged the boy's name through the mud. “I know,” he says with a heavy sigh. His body pushes from the surface, following after her without thought—too lost in his own world and ignorant of the questioning looks cast over her shoulder. Until she stops, and then he gives her a quizzical look. "What is i-?" "Your class isn't this way," she states rather simply, watching as his eyes light up with something familiar. Guilt and being caught red-handed. “Right! Yeah, I-” Words fail the boy, his gaze drifting away to avoid her stare that digs deep, pulling at the roots of his lies. Her arms are crossed, waiting in anticipation for an explanation, and it leaves him to sigh dramatically. “Okay,” he begins, heat rising to his cheeks. “We’re good, yeah? I-I mean, not good, but just-” He’s panicking again. Just a boy standing before a superhuman he’s known forever, trying to steer clear of stepping on her toes—or her heart—as he mends the broken bonds. “We’re working on things, right?” He can see the confusion in her eyes, head tilted as if waiting for the punchline. “I don't—I don’t want t’start things off with a lie.” Steve can hear the scoff in her throat before he’s even confessed, picturing her storming down the hall with anger scattered across the floor, unsure of who to be more annoyed with. “Hopper… He sort of asked me t’watch over you.”

He anticipates her actions, bracing for the impact of her frustration, but it never comes. Her focus is wandering, far away in thought, with a response just on her tongue but hesitant. “Oh,” is all she manages to say. “But I want t’be here,” he reassures. “I wouldn’t have gone out t’the cabin if I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if I didn’t want to. He just—we,” he corrects. “We want t’make sure nothing happens t’you.” Autumn remains quiet, drinking all he’s said without a hint of dishonesty. This new and old relationship sparks like a fire to dry wood. Fast and without warning. “Thanks,” she replies with a gentle smile, popping through the boy's guarded veil to survive a strike that never came. “Y-you’re welcome,” Steve stutters in surprise. “So, what? Are you switching your classes around now?” “No! No, God. I’m not going t’go all stalker on you,” he defends with a cry. Cheeks now red from embarrassment, watching as she laughs at his panic. “Well, I doubt anyone is going to try t’kidnap me in the middle of class.” She takes a step back, away from him. Autumn tests the waters to see if he follows, and he remains firmly planted, though worry lingers in his eye. “Can I still take you home?”

Home.

The word bears venomous fangs that bury deep into the girl's chest, poisoning and sending waves of shock from the pain it brings. Did she truly have a home? All she had known was stripped from beneath her, destroyed, and with no purpose to come back to. No family to call her name in longing. She had a roof over her head and protection from Hopper—just a man doing his best in a shitty situation. Autumn was truly displaced, and the word holds nothing but emptiness. Steve seems to see her struggle, offering a look of sympathy just before he tries to patch up the open wound, but she cuts him off. “I’ll meet you at the doors,” and then she’s gone—lost in the scattered bodies as they all scrambled for doorways to begin another day of learning. It’s all she can think about for the hours spent in lectures. Her notebook lays out, barren of any scribbles for some upcoming test after the holidays. She thinks of that, too, and it leaves her feeling nauseous—unable to stomach the casual talk amongst students as they reveal what they are doing with family once the school bell dismisses them all for a break. At least once for every class, she gives an excuse and races off for the bathroom for a few moments to herself. Hopper had mentioned it in passing—the holidays. Tiptoed around the subject about what his work was doing for the event while stealing glances at her for a reaction. She held none, her nose buried in a book, with a hum of acknowledgment in her throat. “Wouldn’t be so bad,” he says. “Could livin’ the place up a bit.” “Yup,” she replies with a sigh, wanting to push through the conversation and not linger on the things she no longer had.

Cold water splashes against her skin, her torso bent over the sink of the girl's bathroom. She had barged in, startling two other girls hiding out from class and smoking a joint. Her presence is enough to leave them unsettled and on edge, now being seen breaking the school code. The weed is doused beneath the tap, and they run from the room; their anxious words are heard through the hall as they make a break for it. She’s on her own now. Her bag hung heavy as she hoisted herself up by the rim of porcelain. Her reflection is drained and desperate for this wave of stress to pass—to settle and find peace wherever that may be now. She thinks of her father and the lessons taught—the control she gained, though now far out of her grasp. For a moment, she's left wondering about the words once carved through the fog of a mirror. Their messages are all a haze now, but questioning if anything had been a warning. Spirits seeing far into the unknown and breaking through just to provide clarity and guidance. It’s a stupid thought—even worse, to act upon curiosity. Hot breath blows along the glass, a single finger raised to scrawl a question to the universe before a single swipe erases it all. “Stupid.” Her skin is dried, and she’s on the move again, oblivious to the way the lights at her back begin to flicker with life.

Or is it death?

The door swings open, and she’s met with something unsettling and, unfortunately, familiar. The lights have dimmed, if not gone out entirely, leaving only the natural light to creep in through the small windows. But it’s not of sunlight but rather strikes of lighting from a blood-red storm. It ignites the broken tiles at her feet, and the lockers are now ripped open and crushed by a powerful force. Sickly vines had broken through the earth, consuming all inside the school, and perhaps that was the only reason it still stood as it stitched wounds back together. She had been here before, and the fear was all the same. A shuddered gasp fills her lungs, finding her knees weakened and unable to move further than the threshold. But she calls out, despite the risk of something unholy charging through walls for petrified flesh. “Hello?” The girl lingers in anticipation of a sign of life, but nothing comes. Not the shift of a shadow or a rumble in the foundation—it's silent, and she chooses to step out from her place. Was it another fainting spell that cast her out into such a deadly world? Head cracked against the floor with no one to know until the bell for lunch rang. If it’s all just a nightmare, how does she feel the cold air prick at her skin? How can she hear the sounds of crushed debris beneath every step? The Upside Down creeps into reality—or rather, she’s stumbled into it by pure accident. She knows it’s foolish to wander down the halls, peering in through the glass in hopes of another lost soul. Chairs have been weathered by toxins in the air, and desks toppled and were constricted as the vines pulled them deep into the open earth. She’s truly alone here, or so she believes. Something falls in the distance just at her back, earning a panicked twist of her spine as she looks for the mangled body of a monster to creep out from the shadows. Fear grips her chest, every breath forced as she feels herself slowly begin to shut down, backing away from the unseen creatures.

Her body collides with something firm; the shock alone catapults her forward to take in the sight of something—or rather, someone not meant to be there. Someone who had been long gone yet was always near in her mind. A haunting presence. He towers above her, perfectly kept and a beacon in all of the devastation surrounding them. He wears that same smile he once dared to give her as she cowers against the wall of her home. Autumn nearly stumbles as she tries to put the space between them, pushing locked knees to carry her to safety, but he only advances. “No one can understand, can they?” The back of her heel meets a heavy vine, tripping back into the destruction of Hawkin’s High. There’s no Steve—no Hopper to pull her from this hallucination of hell. Books scatter from her bag, and her sweater tangles in the edges of broken pieces, ripped free and torn so that she can run from his grasp. Autumn can hardly see where she’s going—eyes glazed over with panic and following the map of hallways she’s memorized. She feels the man just at her back—fingers grasping at her neck to strangle the life out of her, pulling her deep down into unknown torture. “I understand,” his voice echoes in the girl's mind, following after her no matter how far she runs. “I can help you if you let me.” There’s a strike of lighting—blinding—just as she rounds the corner and feels herself connect with another force. Her body seems to act without thought; her palms are raised to his chest, and in a matter of seconds, he’s gone. The sound of something hard colliding with metal rattles in her ears.

“What the fuck?” The new scenery is slow to trickle in; the sound of crashing thunder is now replaced by laughter and gossiping teenagers as they witness her spiral. Autumn finds herself back in the halls she once left behind, students set free from their classes for a well-earned lunch break. It feels as though the world is watching her every movement, including the rageful eyes of a boy she had crashed into, his back now pressed to one of many lockers. All she seems to see in the sea of bodies are the icy blue eyes of her ghost, digging daggers through her flesh. She runs, and the boy calls out in disgust, “Freak!” The teen pushes through the crowd, some still ogling while others remain ignorant of the disruption. She can see him everywhere—in every reflection, in every glance in her direction. His words echo in the depths of her mind, paired with the cries of a child. It’s slowly consuming her whole; her heart rate spikes with fear as her surroundings blur together. She spills out of the double doors, hands frantic as they rip open her bag and begin the search for a familiar, deathly friend. There’s no carton to be found—not a single hint it had ever existed with crumbled tobacco at the bottom. The bag falls from her grip, suddenly too heavy to carry as her torso bends forward for her hands to rest on bent knees. It feels as though she’s fighting for air—for survival. Fingers tangled in the fabric of her top and pulled to give room for more air, but it’s wasted energy. No relief comes as quickly as she needs it, forcing her to ride out the overwhelming dread until her mind buzzes with static—with emptiness. Her throat is dry, and the world is still a haze. She finds a swaying figure far off in the distance at the bleachers.

It was Nancy.

It's not what she expected. Someone so highly thought of—popular, even—out beneath a sunless sky on her own. Not even a freckled boy is seen out in the field, making peace with their separation as they make casual conversation. Autumn’s stare lingers, waiting for her heart to settle and find a place of rest. The girl doesn’t budge from her place to seek shelter inside the cafeteria, and the teen can’t help but wonder. She steals a glance just over her shoulder, checking that she is truly safe and that his haunting image has faded. There was no suspicious car in sight out in the distance. With the world now steady, she takes a bold step out into the open, her eyes flickering every way to see if she has been followed. The blue-eyed girl seems oblivious to the presence creeping up on her back, lost in her troubled thoughts of what she had lost. There’s a sniffle, and it’s enough to cause concern as Autumn stands just out of sight. “Nancy?” The girl whips around in her direction, clearly startled and now embarrassed, scrambling to pick up the pieces of vulnerability. “Oh,” she wipes at her tearful eyes, pushing them all back down to hold a weak and forced smile. "Hi." Her voice is soft and broken. The pain is enough to reach through and clutch at her own heart. “I didn’t mean t-” “No, no,” she interrupts, her smile now warmer than seconds before as she looks down at her company. “It’s fine, really.” Autumn can feel the way her eyes take in the sight—a girl with a natural gift of absorbing every small detail and deconstructing it. There’s tension in her shoulders—fingers wound tight around the strap of her bag, the other coiling into a fist before flexing out on repeat. “You skippin’ lunch?” She asks, disguising the clear stress the pair was enduring. “Unintentionally,” Autumn laughs, her body slowly easing into a state of calm. Her new friend pats at the chilled metal seat, making a silent offer to come join her, which she does without hesitation. Neither of the girls speak for a moment, basking in the stillness of November and watching as a few boys spill out from the back doors, lit cigarettes in hand. Autumn can’t help but desire the poison—damn near wanting to risk it all by asking them for one—but Nancy holds her steady.

“Thanksgiving break starts tomorrow,” she states, a look of disbelief in her expression. Autumn simply acknowledges her with a hum, watching the way the girl picks at her nails in distress. “Kind of bullshit, isn’t it?” She looks to the other for her thoughts, but Autumn waits in silence, watching as crystal blues fill with sorrow once more, before shaking away the hurt. “We’re just… Expected t’go back t’normal. Like nothing’s happened. Like Barb isn’t gone. Her parents still—they just—" Frustration chokes out her words, palms running down her thighs before the weight of her burdens becomes too much to carry. Her forehead rests in parted hands, willing the pain away before it steals away her own life. Autumn doesn’t know the girl the way others do—not on a deeper level, the way Steve would, as he comforts her with ease. Not the way Barb would. “When I thought Will was gone,” she begins, feeling almost uncomfortable putting in her voice where it may not be needed or welcomed. “I hated everyone. I-I thought, ‘How is this possible?’ How could the world just move on? But they do, and we have t’catch up." A hard sigh spills from her chest, her thoughts lost in the chaos that has been her life—and the forced adjustments made when she wasn’t ready but pushed through to survive. "But when we’re ready.” Nancy’s hands have fallen to lie between parted knees, a far-off look in her eyes with tears now dried up. “S’not fair.” “I know, it’s not.” The girl at her side takes a long inhale, drinking in the cold to douse the fires that run rampant within. The anger and sorrow simmered into nothing so she could walk with her head held high. She straightens her posture, meeting Autumn’s eyeline, and a crooked smile is seen as she offers her gratitude. “Thank you for being here.”

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no-gram · 27 days

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elaborating on what i said in the tags

I felt the same way about you.

I wondered why you are here, if you can't imitate humans.

The encounter was simple. You are an alien, and yet here you are.

That's disgusting. I thought, “You can't even imitate a human being.

But you were worth it.

Just having you next to me made people see me as a good person. You were a trophy.

I thought so.

Ai: I know what you mean. What is the difference between the two for you?

Jun: Difference? Difference, yeah. If a person was down and you were the only one there, what would you do first?

Ai: What? In practical terms, I would call an ambulance to help him.

Jun: If you were a human being, of course you would do that, right?

Ai: Of course.

Jun: That's naive. There are people in the world who think about the benefits of helping first. There are people who would help a fallen person if they can get a reward for it.

Ai: Worst case scenario...but there are definitely people like that.

Jun: I think such a person is not a human being.

jun and her victim were friends, but to jun it was more like a charity case. she was friends with this person because it made her look good to others.

You gradually took on human form. And you forgot your position.

Come to think of it, you couldn't imitate humans, yet you were very particular.

In fact, you couldn't hide your obsession because you couldn't imitate humans, could you?

You are a poor alien.

”I have an idea.”

You are an alien, so what are you doing here?

The humans in this box yard used to look at you with pity. Now they are treating you like a god?

Tsuguha: First Jun: Envy Kizuna: Error Tsuduri: Immortality Itoho: Reverse Rinne: Ruin

eventually their friendship led the victim to start gaining confidence, and in turn people admired them as well. this led to jun becoming jealous.

I can't stand your arrogance any longer, you'll see. You cannot live without me. You'll regret it, I'm sure.

The world will not forgive. “It's not the world. “It's not the world, it's you who won't forgive me.

”If you do that, the world will punish you.

“It's not the world. It's you, isn't it?

The world will bury you now.

“It's not the world. You're the one who buried xxx.

i don't think jun meant for them to die. i think she just wanted to get back at them in some way. to put them back in their place. but something happened, and that person ended up dead.

We may think we are the best of friends, but we don't understand each other, we may see each other in the wrong light, we may think we are best friends, and when the other person dies, we may cry and read condolences.

No, I don't even recognize the other person's voice anymore.

I have lived a lifetime of shame. I have no idea what human life is like for me now.

Human, disqualified. I am no longer fully human.

No, no, it was aliens.

Are you saying it's my fault? No, it's not. How much I…I…！！！！

i think she's trying to pretend she doesn't feel guilty. trying to deny the blame.

There are two creatures in the box yard.

Humans and aliens who cannot imitate humans.

They must live humbly as shadows and losers, accepting their own misery and badness, and be thankful that they are not being looked down upon by humans. They are weak bodies that even cotton can hurt.

I think it is strange that there are aliens on earth. I even think aliens deserve to be eliminated.

Ai: So, what you mean by ''not human'' is...

Jun: You can figure out the rest on your own.

Ai: Yes. Non-human.

Jun: Hmm, I like that way of calling you that. But I would call myself an alien. And you are the non-human.

she's definitely not taking this well.

👀👀

#nogram #002 #analysis

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man-monsters-and-aliens · 1 year

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the aliens from the show are difficult, I have a reboot in my head but I'll separate them for hopefully a more digestible read I also haven't seen the show in a long time so my memory is blahhh

General Headcanons

Coverton gives me amphibious vibes, tho I do think those cheek "flaps" are like. gills or something, not exactly. his chrysalis rejuvenation molting whatever is ?? helps keep his skin squishy soft and get rid of skin disease. human equivalent of a "birthday" but he only does it every 6¾ (earth) years, he's also 180 so you do the math for his human age

"Coverton" is not his real name, that's a title, as is "Coverlord" for leader of the interstellar conquering empire

loves a good mocha, I also think he would like boba tea. idk I like to imagine the aliens just trying earth drinks, I'm gonna project more and say he doesn't like soda, or champagne but does appreciate wine. the lemonade he had from the pilot was meh, whatever

from what I understand Sta'abi doesn't have a home anymore? she's a survivor of some horrid giant beast's rampage. at some point she left her planet to join an interspecies group of warriors that travel the stars, which has some association to the Coverlord Empire. so her position under this council of warriors is.. a monster hunter

her favourite kind of food is from the sea, enjoys shellfish & cephalopods the most (because her usual hunt is on land, seafood is fancy). she likes to dance despite not being very elegant, but her priority is "the mission" which excludes "having fun" (tho her idea of fun is tag)

Sqweep's skin is like. dry slime. or putty texture. she is like a sterilised marshmallow if that makes any sense. smells like roasted walnuts or a burnt almond cookie

Reboot Headcanons

concept art I love better than the og + sketches of inspired slight redesign from my ig (and a drawing I forgor)

Coverton's legs are pretty weak compared to even the average of his species, Earth's atmosphere & gravity doesn't help either. so while he can stand, it's only for a brief time, it also fluctuates how long depending on the weather. he'd use his hoverchair or just put the spacesuit on, especially for going outdoors

‌can't stand saltwater, lousy swimmer, afraid of Earth's ocean & easily seasick

‌unlike show canon, his telekinesis is artificial & enhanced with technology

weighs like a bunch of grapes, flexible & hypermobile, near-sighted so he may wear contact lense

he carries out his rejuvenation cycle in a secure chamber, symptoms include excessive sliming ("sweat"), bubbling skin (boils), and flaking (desquamation is just the beginning). like the rest of his species, he was grown in a lab

I honestly have no idea if that's natural hair or a wig lmao

concept art where I'd just combine the best ones imo

Sqweep is a nickname! she gets it from the "eep" sounds she makes when excited or surprised

idk why I feel like she has a hundred or more siblings, not many are close to each other. perhaps several parents too, at least 5

like her parents and grandparents and great grandparents she's a super rich adult scientist that works as part of an interstellar organisation dedicated to protecting life harbouring star systems

a field researcher therefore planetary explorer, her job is to document & study life on Earth

likes romantic comedies, and loves all animals on Earth, but she's allergic to fur, which is devastating

since she does have a face and therefore is able to emote, I think the antenna colour coded light emoting is unnecessary. I'd like to find another place for it in relation to her but not her biology itself. she sparkles instead

pretty sure no bones (therefore no teeth), light as a cloud so a gust of wind could send her off like a tumbleweed, but I feel the density of her own body can regulate itself, depending on certain conditions? covered in fine fuzz, her nubby hands (tentacles?) hold things like itty bitty hooks

can't digest foods unless in the form of fluids, probably likes bland foods tbh. anything too flavorful would make her head explode

y'know maybe her species is. delicious. their "flesh" tastes like space mango, but cotton candy weight & texture 💀

some of the concepts I refer to for the most challenging and frustrating of the alien bunch, and today's look of her as I also went through & played with various designs

this version of Sta'abi is dropped on Earth to manage her "anger issues". her peers decided she needed to chill out, which is coincidentally the same day a vornicarn is brought into the world. as a hunter, she would've killed on sight, but after helping to capture it and being held captive by Area 5X herself, she starts to empathize with and eventually befriend the creature

Coverton eventually gets her to somewhat roam free in the facility and offers her a way off world but only if she helps him with his plans. he's not completely transparent about them and Sta'abi just wants to leave, she's already familiar with the empire he works for so there's some trust in his word

the males of her species have wings? is that canon? I feel like it's canon.. but in modern days they're just for show, can't fly but can glide and catch wind to hover, though only for so long as they're mostly small

none of these concept art belong to me btw if that wasn't obvious I just took them from the wiki

came from the only egg that survived the initial meteor crash & wasn't frozen to death, laid dormant and got covered in the antartic ice until global warming exposed it millions of years later (which scientists soon discover but let the monster agents investigate as they have alien consultants)

instead of Link's nose I really hammed up the alien parody for my own indulgence haha (blood cw; initial drawings + non-canon chest bursting)

steals coverton's chocolate either when he's not looking or right in his face, probably doesn't like baths, loves chin/neck scratches & belly rubs (only from Sta'abi)

smells with the tip of his tongue, bipedal & quadrupedal, not great at hearing

skin is scaly like a snake, full of muscle

can and will survive in all extreme environments except the desert? for heat & hydration reasons mayhaps as he can't withstand both at once

some of these may change with time and I'd love to read everyone else's hcs! or how you'd rewrite them perhaps :]

since you made it to the very end you're obligated to tell me your favourite alien 🫵

#monsters vs aliens #mva headcanons #mva series #mva show #coverton monsters vs aliens #sta'abi monsters vs aliens #sqweep monsters vs aliens #vornicarn #yeah safe draws stuff #yeah safe answers stuff #mva reboot #this is for you anon i had much to think and scratch my head about!!#sorry it took so long 😭

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fairydares · 2 years

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fuck it, new fic. let's do this.

(there's a 'keep reading' line so don't worry, this isn't too long.)

Title: Chasing Tails (AO3 Link) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Rating: E (Explicit) because I'm almost positive there will be eventual smut. I'll be clearer about this as I actually decide what I'm going to write lol. Overarching Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Categories: 2nd gen fic; adventure, humor, romance, fluff, and angst in approximately that order. i guess.

Pairings: Nalu, Gruvia, Gajevy, Jerza, Miraxus+Fried (don't know what that ship's called sorry), Chendy, Sting/Yukino, Baccana-- next gen has pairings, too, but I don't want to reveal those yet.

Tags/TW's: The first chapter contains UFC/MMA-esque violence as well as some implied street violence. There may be more TW's I need to add later, but I honestly haven't written the whole story or decided everything, so that's all I can give you for now. I'll do my best to tag appropriately as I go.

Summary: It’s been almost 12 years since 17-year-old Layla O'Neil was found living alone on the streets and put in foster care, and she likes to think she’s done a pretty good job of forgetting the past. She doesn’t remember her birth family, the name ��Nashi [*1] Dragneel,” or where she heard the absurd stories she told the police who found her. Stories about Wizard Guilds, flying cats, and–most cringey of all–her self-proclaimed status as a “Fire Dragon Slayer.”

But the past becomes pretty impossible to ignore when it confronts her in the form of some middle-aged, pink-haired stalker who won’t stop calling her the ridiculous name she’d nearly forgotten, and trying to convince her to come back to “Fairy Tale.”

Oh, and claiming to be her dad.

Like Layla doesn’t have enough problems! The last thing she needs is some delusional freak following around. Especially one who’s starting to make her want to take his hand…

Yep, this is a Second Gen (and therefore post-canon) fic. The idea took root and just would not let go. I’ll warn you ahead of time that the premise is somewhat dark. That said, I’m the kind of writer who likes (and tries to write) stories with sad beginnings, hopeful middles, and triumphant ends. I don't want to give too much away, but you shouldn't expect major character deaths or anything like that, though their may be some forms of lightly implied abuse.

Feel free to reblog, make your own additions with commentary, whatever. I'm quite lax with stuff like that. Hope this was comprehensive enough, and that you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Dragon-Slaying Aliens

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“That’s correct…a world that exists independently from the one we know. And, unfortunately, a world that’s begun losing its Magic…unlike here, in Edolas, Magic is a finite resource. Without limits on its use, it will one day disappear forever.” -from Episode 78, “Edolas”, (English dub, ~00:09), Carla’s line [*1]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------To say this mission had gone sideways was a big-ass understatement, and even Natsu had to admit it.

It had started well enough. A relatively small mission. Not even S-Class! Puny wannabe Dark Guilds like the one Shirotsume needed dealt with–what was it called? Bony Jewel or something? Anyways, they were a dime a dozen, these days. Hell, Natsu was pretty sure he and Happy took out, like, a billion of them in the past seven years by pure accident. So how the hell was he supposed to know that this time, he’d get blasted to another world–one even Team Natsu hadn’t wound up in?

And he was positive they’d never been here. He may have had a bad memory (something he’d begrudgingly been forced to actively acknowledge as he grew into a man) but he was sure he’d have remembered somewhere that made him feel this bad. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t use his Magic. If it had just been that, this might have been fun. Hell, a lot of the worlds Team Natsu had visited–even Edolas–had been fun.

This one sucked.

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he’d been transported to the future–one where FACE had been activated and all the Magic had been dissipated. Because it had felt, truly, like all the Magic was being sucked out of him. When he’d woken up on the forest floor, he’d felt as if he was dying. His lungs had burned with each breath (and not in the good way). His limbs had felt like lead when he tried to rise.

He’d quickly realized that couldn’t be the case, though. Even if the Dragons hadn’t destroyed FACE, if all the Magic had been sucked from Earthland he’d have Magical Deficiency Syndrome. He’d either be down or in forced into his END form.

He’d wandered around the small forest he’d woken up in alone, trying to focus through the stink and noise he was only capable of perceiving through what felt like about a hundred layers of thick blanket, and calling for his best friend as long as he could. It hadn’t been long before he gave up and left; Happy had never shouted back (something he considered fortunate, at this point; hopefully Happy was back in Earthland) his stomach was trying to eat itself, it was dark–and, worst of all–he still couldn’t use his Magic. At all.

Actually, scratch that: the absolute worst part was when a glance at his (as usual) bare shoulder showed him that his guild mark had vanished. It was just gone. So was his scarf, and so was his Mini Communication Lacrima. Obviously, his guild mark and scarf were bigger deals personally, but the Mini Comm was a bigger loss in immediate, practical terms. After That Day, seven years ago, Laxus–now Fairy Tail’s Master–had started putting Navigation Enchantments on everyone’s Comms so that anyone who went missing could be traced. There was a 3D map of Earthland and Edolas visually tracking everyone’s movements in the Master’s Office. It could even find them in Edolas.

Now, Natsu’s was nowhere to be found. No one would be able to find him, wherever he was, and any hopes of contacting them were obviously dead in the water, too.

He was gonna have to find his own way back, somehow. He only prayed his scarf was somehow back in Earthland, and that Happy had grabbed it for him.

As he hobbled down the weird, too-neat walkway he’d found, he had to believe that whatever was preventing him from using his Magic was what kept him from sensing anything beyond the general–the stink, the sound, the pain, the hunger. Normally, with his better-than-normal resilience and enhanced strength, his pain would have mostly taken care of itself by now. Usually, making himself move helped. Now, it seemed to be making things worse.

After finding the pathway, he’d kept shouting for his little buddy a whole bunch of times, but all he’d gotten were several loud verbal confrontations and one physical one. He’d expected to beat the massive brute towering next to the smaller woman beside him–and he had. But it hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected. His movements had been slower than normal. His limbs had felt like lead. His strength had been lesser. Every time he tried to call up his Magic, a wave of dizziness and lethargy had overcome him. It was like he’d feel the rushing up inside of him only to sputter to coldness at the last second; he hadn’t seen so much as a spark since he’d woken up.

In the end, it was only experience and determination which had allowed him to level the much larger man, and hard-earned wisdom which had seen him running from the screeching woman and the gun-wielding, uniform-wearing soldiers her screeching had drawn. Yet the punch he’d taken to the nose had made it bleed and the kick to the thigh had made him limp.

It wasn’t just that his Dragon senses had vanished, making him woozy, making it difficult to stand and excruciating to move. His strength was gone as well. Not even sealstone would have weakened him this much.

He’d wandered, now, for what felt like several hours. The number of Magical Vehicles around were astounding–astounding, and nauseating; just looking at them made Natsu want to vomit. The one good part of having an empty stomach was that he had nothing to give up. He meandered in a stupor, through unbelievably thick crowds, dodging Magic Vehicles and their honking, and glaring down anyone who yelled at him for not understanding something, occasionally barking back to scare them off.

He’d never been so disoriented, and the worst part was that deep down, he knew that there was no one to blame but himself.

Lucy and Happy had asked him, point-blank, if the Quest he’d chosen had anything to do with his search for their long-lost daughter and kitten.

It had. Of course it had.

However, Natsu had denied it. Because if he hadn’t, he and Happy wouldn’t have been able to leave right then. Lucy would have forced him to bring someone else along; she was busy taking care of their son, Luke; the Perve-sicle was already out on his own mission/search for Juvia, and Erza was away, which meant he’d have had to ask someone outside Team Natsu.

No thanks, he’d decided, covering up the fine print on the mission request with his fingers before holding it up to Lucy’s nose.

Now, as he snarled at yet another person yelling at him for being in the way, Natsu was starting to consider the possibility that he just maybe should’ve been more upfront, and even that he should–perhaps–have waited for the stripper to get back before taking on Bony Jewel or whatever alone.

But how the hell was he supposed to have known it would end up like this?! It had been going fine–in fact, it had been going great! A couple opponents had offered a real challenge before their Master had shown up. Natsu had been laying down brick in that fight, too. Yet when the guy had been on his last legs, he’d whipped some creepy, sparkly rainbow skull from nowhere (now that he thought about it…that might have been what the Guild was named for!) and shot one last attack. One so big, Natsu had been unable to dodge–though, of course, he’d made to both block and finish the fight with an enormously powerful Fire Dragon Wing Attack.

Based on his current predicament–he had to assume it hadn’t worked. Even though the skull had shattered in the heat of his flames at the last second, the blast had still hit him. His one consolation was that he was pretty sure his little buddy had heeded his final warning to get back. So he was almost definitely still back in Earthland.

It had taken Natsu several pathetic attempts to stand. Getting here felt like a blur. Now, he had no idea what he was doing. What he should do. Their money had been in Happy’s knapsack, and without his precious nose, finding food was basically impossible anway.

Man…Lucy’s gonna kill me, he grumbled internally, grunting at another group who shouted at him for bumping into him.

Okay, yeah, maybe he should’ve been honest. Maybe he should’ve waited. But how could he do that when the lead was so good? When there was even the smallest chance he might finally find Nashi [*]?

At the thought, his footsteps halted temporarily. He ducked his head, bangs shadowing his eyes. He balled his fists at his sides. The thought of the missing daughter he’d never stopped searching for never got easier to bear.

It was the worst thing that could happen to a parent, to lose their child. Something he wouldn’t have wished on Fairy Tail’s most vicious, evil enemy. He and Lucy understood that too intimately. Still, he didn’t let himself get bogged down, not when it might hold him back, not when it might keep him from finding her. Seven years, she’d been gone. Her, Wendy–so many of their nakama and allies. Time had neither hindered nor halted his search for any of his missing comrades, but especially his little girl. She’d be twelve, now. He’d gotten better with birthdays and anniversaries when he married Lucy. He’d woken up and started crying on April 14th this year, the same as his wife.

Still, even on that day, he’d spoken of her. When he was with Luke, Lucy, and Happy, he talked about it. He talked about how he’d find her and Harley–Happy and Carla’s kitten–how they’d be a family again. He spoke of the future to give it power, just like Igneel had taught him. Just like he’d taught his own kids. Wherever Nashi was, he was sure she must be doing the same; speaking of how she’d find them again, the same as he strove to find her.

But he couldn’t continue his search (covert or not) until he got home. So getting home was definitely at the top of the to-do list. Right after eating.

He kept walking.

Wherever he’d wound up was seedy, dark, yet strewn with lights that made paths across his newly-sucky eyes when he looked at them directly. Gross and smelly, too. The people he’d just bumped into started shouting back at him, something about bumping into someone’s girlfriend, and he huffed irritably. Normally, he’d never back down from a challenge like this, but believe it or not, he was too lost, confused, hungry, and tired to deal with another fight–not when the injuries he’d sustained from the previous one were still hurting this much.

It was humiliating. He’d always been the type of person who refused to back down from a fight, no matter how outmatched he was. These days, a lot of fights were honestly pretty boring for him. Erza would always be scary, and Gray was admittedly pretty strong (if not badass enough to stand up to him, or so he would always insist). He could proudly admit to having achieved (at least) Gildarts-level strength without the clumsiness to make him dangerous.

Now, he was balking out of fights with people who weren’t even using Magic.

There was something viscerally terrifying about how much his injuries were troubling him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t limp without worsening whatever injury that asshole had doled out on his knee. His nose felt bigger than his head.

He stumbled on, brooding.

The guy whose girlfriend he’d bumped into got louder, closer. Obviously, the freak wasn’t gonna let it go. Cursing, he started hobbling more quickly, turning the next corner. To his relief and curiosity, bright lights, loud voices, and a huge crowd–littered with food stands he might be able to beg food from–appeared. He made his way into the thick of it, ignoring the shouts behind him, and ducked and wove between people. It took him several seconds to realize he was still trying to find food by his nose, which barely even freaking worked. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the source of the light, which seemed to focus down on whatever sat in the middle of the crowd.

Curiosity shoving past the numbness and hunger, Natsu pushed his way towards it.

“Ow!”

“Hey!”

“Watch it, freak!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natsu grumbled. “Watch your damn selves!”

He still felt like shit, but the crowd was oddly invigorating. As he crashed through the thickest (front) lines of the crowd, more lights came on while the darkness behind him fell deeper. Natsu winced, blinking. It took him a few moments to register what he’d stumbled upon: a roundish sort of stage, elevated a few feet off the ground and bordered by some kind of chain-link cage thing. Two corners were open to be entered, but fended off by some big dudes in black suits, holding back the crowd.

“WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” boomed a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making Natsu flinch again and the crowd start chattering loudly.

Match? Natsu wondered despite his disorientation and exhaustion, thinking of the Grand Magic Games. He shoved aside every stranger who tried to take his place at the front of the audience, looking around with wide, curious eyes, shoving his gnawing stomach to the backburner.

“FIGHT FANS! ARE YOU REAAAADDDDYYYYY??!!! ”

Fight? Natsu thought, perking up, conveniently forgetting his injuries in a burst of excitement. Several people started chattering at the crack of the loud voice that was everywhere and nowhere, making Natsu look around even more fervently.

“BECAUSE THIS LONG-WAITED MATCH-UP IS… ABOUT…TO…BEGINNNN!!!”

The cheering got louder, the shoving got more aggressive, and Natsu got more aggressive right along with it. He’d be damned if he was going to miss a good fight. Besides. He needed to see what the Magic here was like. He was being smart. So ha! How about that, Lucy?!

“INTRODUCING: OUR FIRST FIGHTER!” the voice shouted while Natsu continued to elbow and shove, anticipation rising. Music rang out, a dude’s loud, snarly voice backed up by a bunch of deep bangs and booms which had Natsu trying to decide if what he was listening to was awesome or fucking awful–nope, definitely fucking awful. For the first time, he was glad he couldn’t hear properly since he got here.

A light flashed at one corner, drawing his eye. “UNLIKE HIS OPPONENT, THIS FIGHTER IS WELL-ESTABLISHED IN THE SEMI-UNDERGROUND OCTAGON! HAD HIS PERFORMANCES BEEN FORMALLY JUDGED WHILE THE UNDERGROUND WAS STILL ACTIVE, HE WOULD LIKELY HAVE LONG-BEEN PERMANENTLY DISQUALIFIED! YET, IN SPITE OF A CONTROVERSIAL CAREER, HE HAS REMAINED A STAPLE OF THE SEMI-OCTAGON FIGHTING WORLD FOR TWO YEARS!”

“Er, feels kinda harsh?” Natsu muttered to himself, sweating slightly. Though he didn’t really get what “controversial career” meant.

“WHILE THIS IS NOT FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE, DUE TO HIS HISTORY, MANY WILL NO DOUBT VIEW HIM AS REIGNING CHAMP AND DEFENDER! INNNNTTRRROOODUUUCCCINNNG… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON!”

A door Natsu hadn’t even seen was slammed open as if it had been kicked, and an enormous man–even bigger than the one that had managed to tag Natsu just a little bit ago, a man built like that potato head guy from Lamia Scale, and actually bearing a similar-shaped bald head–appeared, yanking off headphones and chucking them over his massive shoulder one of the lackeys who’d followed him out. The much shorter guy jumped, barely catching them and fumbling a lot once he had. “Mad Cow” or whatever grinned maniacally as he stormed for the ring, dark eyes wild.

The response from the crowd was mixed but mostly positive, Natsu quickly noticed as he glanced around. His eyes skated quickly over the group next to him (which was booing, unlike most of the crowd) then returned his focus to the stage-circle thing. He could see well enough, he was glad to note, even if his vision was nowhere near as sharp as it was back on Earthland. Big Guy took his place at the corner of the ring and immediately started pacing, lifting tree-like arms and roaring as he did so. Meanwhile his lackey scurried for the bit of protected corner behind him, trying to shout for his attention and getting nowhere as he continued to pace.

Natsu quickly decided he didn’t like the looks of this guy, intro aside. He was the type of asshole Natsu lived to knock down a peg, and despite his injuries and exhaustion, Natsu found himself appraising the big bastard, hands twitching. Sure, he wasn’t in the best shape, but since when had he been one to turn down the chance to kick some ass? It was more a reflex than anything. For about the billionth time since he’d landed here, he tried conjuring up some fire only to curse internally as all he got for his efforts was a wave of dizziness and a wash of helplessness.

“NOW FOR OUR CONTENDER,” the voice boomed. “SHE’D ONLY BARELY ENTERED THE UNDERGROUND BEFORE IT BECAME THE SEMI-UNDER, BUT WAS ALREADY MAKING WAVES! THIS FIGHTER HAS SPARKED INTENSE DEBATE ABOUT WHETHER WOMEN SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO FIGHT MEN–IN ANY OCTAGON!” More mixed din. Natsu frowned in confusion. Was it for the other fighters’ safety or something? Because someone should ban Erza from contributing to the guild hall violence. Oh, yes. That was a great idea. He’d have to bring the idea up to Gray when he got home.

“BUT IT’S DIFFICULT TO ARGUE WITH HER HANDY VICTORIES!” the voice boomed. “THANKS TO HER NEARLY-UNBROKEN STREAK OF INSANE WINS, SHE HAS BEEN NICKNAMED THE THE ‘PHOENIX’, ‘UNDERDOG’, ‘TENMEN’...AND HER PREFERRED NICKNAME…”

A new song started, and this one was undeniably cool, in Natsu’s opinion. Something hard, fast, and catchy, punctuated by an angry-sounding woman singing something about “not giving a damn” about something or other. The door at the opposite end of the ring swung open. A girl came swaggering out, and Natsu froze.

“THE DRAGONESS, LAYLAAAAA O'NEEEILLLLL!!!!”

It wasn’t his daughter. It couldn’t be. Her name wasn’t Layla. Her name was Nashi. His Nashi would be twelve, and this girl was in her late teens–maybe even her early twenties. The fact that her fighting nickname was “The Dragoness” was a nasty coincidence, but that’s all it was. This couldn’t be Earthland’s Nashi.

But it was this world’s Nashi. Of that, there was no doubt. And Natsu couldn’t make himself take his eyes off her, couldn’t even make himself blink as he stared, ignoring the cheering and booing all around him.

A couple strands of unruly pink hair at her bangs had broken free of their tight braids, as adorable and predictably unpredictable as his little girl’s. They clung to her forehead, bouncing as she strutted towards the monster still pacing, practically frothing at the mouth, and Natsu vaguely registered the sound of several peoples’ alarmed murmuring. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have understood; she was about half the guy’s size and about -50% as insane-looking.

Not scared, though.

And…she looked like Lucy. She looked so much like Lucy that it hurt. He could still remember times when he’d call his little girl’s name, she’d turn around, and he’d gasp–because it really was like an adorable, wild little pink-haired Lucy turning to look up at him, her whole face lighting up like he was the greatest thing in Earthland. The memory choked him up, a feeling he’d gotten used to over the past seven years. He swallowed hard.

But that wasn’t Lucy’s smile. Natsu felt like he had seen that smile somewhere but he wasn’t particularly interested in thinking about it all that deeply, because what mattered was that it was her smile, his little girl’s, big and toothy and unmistakable–a little lopsided, the corners of her lips characteristically curling.

It hit his chest like a shot from Zeref, making him briefly clutch at his waistcoat’s dirtied fabric.

Natsu knew, firsthand, just how similar other worlds’ versions of his loved ones could be to his. Hell, Edolas Lucy had chopped off her hair to make it a little easier to distinguish herself from Earthland Lucy.

That didn’t make it hurt any less to suddenly see another world’s Nashi– Layla, this one was called. That was Nashi’s middle name. It made sense, when you thought about it. Names were one thing that seemed to sometimes differ slightly between worlds, as he’d learned on the 100-Year-Quest [*3]. Her canines were sorta sharp, maybe, but they weren’t Dragon Slayer sharp, like his and daughter’s. Besides. Edo Nashi and Fireball’s canines were a tiny bit sharper than normal, too.

It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. Looking at her still felt like being punched in the chest by Erza. Yet he couldn’t stop watching as the music, cheers, and boos faded, she stripped off her sweats (to much catcalling and whistling) to reveal a black sports bra/shorts getup sort of like “Mad Bull’s” shorts, revealing a body packed with much more muscle than any of Fairy Tail’s women would’ve allowed themselves to accumulate. She looked pretty badass, he decided.

The voice that was everywhere and nowhere boomed on:

“NOT ONLY A CHANCE AT THE UPCOMING TITLE ON THE LINE, BUT–POTENTIALLY–THE FUTURE OF MIXED SEMI-UNDERS. TWO CHALLENGERS, SQUARING OFF FOR A CHANCE AT THE SEMI-FINALS. THIS IS A GIGANTIC CULTURAL MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF THIS SPORT… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON VS. THE ‘DRAGONESS’ LAYLA O'NEIL!”

“‘Dragoness’ is fucking right!” Mad Cow or whatever roared while he hugged one arm across his chest, grinning ferally at his much smaller opponent. “Here hoping some man will look at you, fugly?!”

Several people in the audience laughed. Even the announcer chuckled. Meanwhile, Natsu’s blood boiled. On some level, he knew he needed to separate himself from this. From this fight, from this “Nashi.” Especially when he was this powerless to do anything about any of it. But it was impossible to listen to someone say that to another version of his daughter and not have every protective instinct in his body flare, especially when the spectators apparently thought it was fucking hilarious.

However, her grin didn’t even flicker. “Like you’re one to talk!” she cackled. “You look like Popeye fucked Bigfoot!”

Natsu didn’t flinch at the language like many people in the audience seemed to. In fact, he found the disapproving murmurs confusing. The other guy hadn’t exactly been polite, but he hadn’t gotten the same reaction. Still, a solid number of people were laughing their asses off, including the group next to him which had booed Mad Cow.

He also had no clue what the hell she’d just said even meant, but the way Mad Cow’s smile dropped off his face, a handful of people started howling with laughter, and the commentator’s chuckles cut off abruptly was enough to make Natsu grin.

Some random guy in some sort of black, collared uniform entered the arena, signaling to the loud, annoying commentator. Unlike her opponent, no one had followed This Nashi into the arena; she was all alone. So she ran back to her own bit of protected yet empty corner and threw her clothes and a water bottle over the chainlink fence, then ran back towards the middle of the arena. There, she hopped up and down, shaking out her arms. Stretched them above her head.

“OUCH!” The commentator finally seemed to recover, though he sounded somewhat vexed. “WELL, ONE THING’S FOR SURE, THE CHALLENGER CAN TALK GAME…WHETHER SHE CAN LIVE UP TO IT IS ANOTHER QUESTION.”

“God, I fucking hate when Hansis commentates,” the guy next to Natsu muttered, his friends snorting in agreement. Then he glanced at Natsu–only to double take. “Oi, are you related to the Dragoness or something?!” he asked, eyes on his hair.

“Uhhh…” Natsu chuckled nervously, feeling himself start to sweat. He may have been what Erza would (and frequently did ) call an “impulsive idiot”, but he had no clue how to explain that he was the father of her other self. “Something like that.”

“Whoa, seriously?!” The guy’s friend leaned around him to look at Natsu with wide, shining eyes, then continued, “I won’t ask anymore, ‘cause obviously you’re trying to protect your identities or something, but that’s so cool! We’re huge fans!”

“Hmm…” Natsu said, scanning their apparel–t-shirts and hats emblazoned with her face and silhouette–and what looked like homemade signs of her name, written in fiery letters. “I can see that…what is this, exactly?” He asked this while looking around at the lights, spectators, an unfamiliar kind of money being exchanged and counted between several people.

Natsu tilted his head, blinking. “No?” he said.

“The semi-underground tournament?” the only girl in the group said, eyes almost as wide as her friend’s. When Natsu only continued to look confused, she said, “What, do you live under a rock?! You’ve at least heard of MMA, right? Mixed Martial Arts?”

He perked up at this. “Like a fight?! Hell, yeah! How do I get in on this?!” He grinned, cracking his knuckles, his earlier scuffles and empty stomach completely forgotten.

“YOU DON’T!” the entire group shouted, eyes bugging.

The dude who’d first started talking to him huffed, sweating slightly. “The ‘semi-underground’ octagon used to just be called ‘the underground fights,’” he explained loudly, Natsu still having to lean in to catch what he said with his new, bad ears over the increasingly excited din. “It was illegal, but, like, illegal in the ‘everyone knows but won’t squeal’ way, you know?”

Natsu nodded, fully getting this. After all, how many times had soldiers arrested him only for Queen Hisui to let him off with a finger-wag. Of course, his luck on that front had run out seven years ago…

“The feds finally cracked down on it,” the guy continued, “but didn’t prosecute any of the fighters. Now, it’s called the ‘Semi-Underground’...it’s got no weight-classes (which is why the Dragoness can fight big dudes like Mad Bull). All genders are free to compete and fight each other. It’s a bit more for entertainment than pure fighting prowess– that was different, before,” the guy added with a wistful tone. “But still! You can’t just go waltzing into the octagon, you know? Back in the basement where this used to happen, you could’ve gotten away with that, but now you’ve gotta work for it, you know? Seriously, do you live under a rock or something?”

Irritated, Natsu opened his mouth, but his response was cut off when a loud voice–not as loud as the announcer, but still–redrew all their attention to the ring. “Alright, fighters,” the black-collar guy said into a microphone which was smaller and not as loud as the commentator’s, quieting the audience. “We’ve been over the rules. Protect yourself at all times. Follow my instructions. We’re going to have a clean fight, you hear me?” He glared at Mad Bull, but This Nashi was the only one who dipped her chin in recognition. Natsu’s eyes narrowed along with hers when her opponent refused to acknowledge the guy’s words. “Now, touch gloves at this time, and come out ready to do this!”

Both fighters instantly danced away from each other. Black collar guy scowled. Both the commentator and the audience made sounds like “ OOOOOOOH!”

“NO TOUCH!” came the commentator’s gleeful voice, “I REPEAT, NEITHER FIGHTER TOUCHED GLOVES, AND SO FAR, NEITHER ARE REALLY MOVING FOR EACH OTHER–”

“SAY YOU’RE PRAYERS, BITCH!” Mad Cow roared. “YOU’RE DEAD MEAT!”

“BRING IT!” This Nashi roared back, and Mad Cow lunged, swinging in immediately with a big, dramatic overhand hook that would have knocked her out immediately if she hadn’t skated out of its way. It took about three similar exchanges for Natsu to sag in disappointment.

“Oi!” he shouted, utterly let down, “Where the hell’s the magic?!”

“Geez!” the guy next to him laughed. “The fight’s only just started: give them a minute to warm up! Then we’ll get to see the cool stuff.”

“What, they’re not allowed to use it at first or something?” Natsu asked, still staring as This Nashi fended off huge, devastating blows raining down from above and leapt back from the powerful kicks, eyes narrowed and expression tight.

“...Er, what?” the guy asked.

“Magic–duh!” Natsu huffed, flickering wide eyes between the guy and This Nashi, who was now darting backwards around the round-ish ring, still fending Mad Cow off, weaving and ducking with a speed few could hope to match. “You know?! Fire, Ice, Celestial Magic…?

The guy stared at him for a second along with his companions, all of whom were also sweating. It was then that Natsu knew:

Something more was going on here. Something he didn’t understand. This place…wherever he was, it was like Edolas. Not now, but back when he, Lucy, and the others had gone there. Magic didn’t just not exist, here; was some kind of… taboo on it.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. Trying to keep his voice as quiet as he could over the crowd, he continued, “I didn’t mean to say something that would get you in trouble...”

The group’s only response was to sidle away from him surreptitiously, glancing at him and sharing looks with wide eyes. Natsu was thrown for a loop once more. Ooo- kay, talk about overly-suspicious. Were there guards listening in on their conversation or something? As discreetly as possible, with his hand still at the back of his head, he looked around, eyes narrowed.

Yet…he saw nothing to warrant their suspicion. An unruly crowd…and an astonishing lack of guards. At the Grand Magic Games, there’d always been a ton of guards. Way more than he wanted to be there, honestly. Did this have something to do with the whole “underground” thing?

He looked at the group again, then realized something important: it was him they were looking at nervously. Nervously, and like…he was crazy or something.

It had taken time, but the years had made Natsu wiser–cooler–about situations like this. Even as his stomach sank with the realization that getting home was going to be a much harder task than he’d initially realized, he acknowledged that he’d need to be careful about mentioning Magic here. Dropping his hand, he forced a small smile at them then turned his attention back to the arena, where Mad Cow continued to chase This Nashi around the edge of the arena. Meanwhile, his mind continued to reel, loud to himself and no one else.

“–IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE SHE’S CAUGHT IN A CLINCH, HERE, AND THEN OUR NIGHT WILL BE OVER!” the commentator was blaring. It was sort of surprising, how easily he’d been able to tune out when Natsu’s ears were registering so little. “I HATE TO SAY IT–” (Based on the glee in his tone, Natsu doubted that.) “–BUT HOWEVER MUCH OF AN EXTRAORDINARY FIGHTER SHE IS, SHE’S STILL A FEMALE FIGHTER. HER OPPONENT HAS WELL OVER A HUNDRED POUNDS ON HER [*4]. AND, AGAIN, I HATE TO SAY THIS–BUT THERE ARE JUST PHYSICAL BARRIERS NO CHICK FIGHTER WILL EVER BE ABLE TO OVERCOME! RIGHT NOW, THIS IS A DOG FIGHT, AND NOT ONE SHE CAN KEEP SCRAPPING IN! SHE’S NOT GOING TO COME OUT AS THE ‘UNDERDOG,’ THIS TIME–”

“Man, she’s getting her ass beat!” someone from the group broke the awkward silence as This Nashi was swept aside by a blow that caught the guard at her ear.

“Maybe she’ll make a comeback!” another guy said, tremulous but hopeful, as a log-like shin crashed into her stomach.

“She definitely will!” the guy who’d first spoken to Natsu said, though there was a distant note of doubt in his voice as she barely reeled from an arrow-fast straight right.

Despite the awkwardness of their last interaction, Natsu couldn’t help appreciating these people, who were so devoted to this world’s Nashi. He decided to end their night more positively. “Is that what you think?” he asked in a somewhat bored tone, eyes on the girl still gliding backwards, dancing away from the hits and kicks or else blocking them. He felt, rather than saw, the group’s eyes jumping to him, some of them quickly leaping away only to dart back.

“What do you mean?” the first guy ventured when he said nothing else, edging a little closer once more.

Natsu crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes thinning as Big Boy brought down a hailstorm of fists on This Nashi’s head. His eyes tracked the way a particularly big hit caught her forearm–but only barely, seeing as she’d slid out of the enormous range even as she blocked. Just like he’d thought…

His stomach churned uncomfortably. It was eerie and cruel, how much her movements and the memories aligned–

“OUCH! That hurt, Daddy!” After the exclamation, Nashi began grumbling, vigorously rubbing her forearm where his fist had just him.

“Woops!” Natsu chuckled sheepishly, “My bad!”

Despite the fact that she was still rubbing the arm he’d tapped with a light hit, the little girl who barely came up above his knees scowled.

It was midday, now. In their front lawn; his and Happy’s house, now much larger with the rooms he’d added for Lucy and their kids.

“But–” He grew serious. “–you think your enemies will take it easy on you, Nashi? You think they’ll give you a break because you say ‘ouch’?”

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled–pouted, really. She was so cute, he couldn’t have kept his lips from quirking into a grin if he tried. Strutting forward, he planted a hand on top of her head, rubbing the unruly locks. He only grinned wider when she turned her scowl/pout up to him. “Sorry, kiddo, but they won’t!”

Lucy would have lost her mind, if she saw the interaction. Natsu could just hear her now: “NATSU, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! SHE’S FIVE! BE CAREFUL, WOULD YOU? BLAH BLAH BLURGH BLAH– !”

He never really got Lucy, when she acted like that. Nashi was a Dragon Slayer, like him. She could take much more than a normal human, but would never learn that she could if he didn’t show her! Not to mention that Igneel had been way tougher on him, when he was five. Besides, he didn’t want his kid to be some weakling! What father did want that?

Not any good ones, that was for sure. Especially not when their kids had Nashi’s determination and drive.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he apologized again, still rubbing her head affectionately. “But you’ve got to understand…if I hurt you, it’s because I know your enemies will hurt you the same way…I don’t want it to surprise you. I want you to be able to fight back, still. You do still want to be a big-time Dragon Slayer, don’t you?”

She stared up at him dubiously, but the smile caught on quick. She’d never been able to resist smiling back at him.

“...Yeah,” she admitted finally, feigning reluctance.

He lifted his hand off her head, cupping it around his ear and leaning down towards her. “What was that?!” he shouted. “I couldn’t hear you…what was it you want?!”

“I–pfft–I WANT–” Her small smile turned to a grin–the big, corner-curled grin only his daughter ever could or would achieve. The one that always melted his heart.

“I WANNA BE A DRAGON SLAYER!” she managed to roar through her grin. “NO–I MEAN, I WANNA BE THE STRONGEST DRAGON SLAYER EVER!”

“HELL YEAH, YOU DO!” he roared back, the pride managing to make his chest burst even as he squared up again, preparing for more training. An adrenaline only teaching one’s prodigy could spark electrocuted his system. “IF THAT’S REALLY TRUE, THEN COME ON, NASHI! YOU’VE GOT MORE IN YOU! I KNOW YOU DO!”

“OH YEAH? WELL I DO! I GOT WAY MORE IN ME!” She dropped into the stance he’d taught her, grinning for everything she was worth. The sun illuminated her smile.

He somehow managed to grin even more widely. “Right, then listen up!” he commanded. “When Dragon Slayers fight, they got one big advantage: they can take a whole bunch of hits–then still get up. So that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“...Huh?!” The little girl’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You’re sayin’ I’m gonna let myself get hit?!”

“Well, not too hard,” he elaborated. “And not too much…you’re just gonna play defense for a while, see?” He moved for her, throwing a fist much more slowly than he normally would have. Automatically, she wove away, eyes wide on his face. His right fist was followed by his left, then a kick–all too sluggish to be real. She easily moved around and blocked all of them. “This way,” he continued, throwing another kick. “You can learn the guy you’re fighting, how step, how they breathe…”

“How they step…how they breathe…” she repeated to herself in a murmur, eyes flickering all over his body as he continued to pantomime a real fight. Natsu couldn’t help but grin. Nashi was a distractible kid, but when it came to fighting, she was always on the ball.

Natsu didn’t mind one bit when Lucy blamed him for that.

“...how they fight,” he finished.

“...how they fight!” she whispered.

He started speeding up his movements. Let her orient before he lit up his fists. She mirrored him, flames igniting her much smaller fists. Their dance became even faster “That’s it, Nashi!” he praised as she leapt back from a kick, only letting it clip her shoulder. “Get into the flow of it! Read my movements! Remember, breathe, and–”

“She’s reading him,” he murmured, voice softer than he’d meant it to be. “Fending him off and waiting for the right moment; his hits are only clipping her.” His hunger was catching up with him again, as was his pain. He ached. He wanted to sleep. And…

…It hurt. It hurt too much. Knowing it wasn’t his Nashi…that just made it hurt more. Each hit, each block, each flash of those brown eyes…they felt like shards of glass piercing his heart.

I can’t stay here, he realized.

“What was that?” the girl in the group asked, venturing closer to him.

His heart was heavy, sinking as he watched the girl. Embarrassment washed over him as he realized that had been a stupid thing to say in the first place. This wasn’t his Nashi. She wasn’t using what he’d taught her because he hadn’t been the one to train her. Hell, she probably wasn’t even gauging her opponents’ movements; she was probably fighting for her life, here.

She would lose.

“Nothin’,” he replied thickly, dropping his arms even as he watched the girl roll away from a rather impressive and extremely long-ranged crescent kick, not even the man’s big toe catching her at all. “I was wrong…enjoy the rest of the fight, guys.” He used the ensuing beat of silence to stare–for just one more second–at the girl. This world’s version of his girl.

Without thinking, he went to heft up his backpack, only to sigh in quiet defeat–the exhale almost visible even in the warm air–as he remembered it wasn’t there; he was just a weakling in this world. That’s why his back (and whole body) felt so heavy.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” the first guy who’d spoken to him said as he turned away, pushing back through the crowd. His tone was an odd mixture of relieved and disappointed. Natsu said nothing, merely waving.

Overhead, the booming voice–which he’d tuned out during the competition–continued to sound off. “–AN ADMITTEDLY UNBELIEVABLE DODGE, BY ,” it said, clearly shocked, as Natsu pushed past a woman who was obviously excited to be moving closer to the arena. “BUT THE NEXT FLURRY OF BLOWS LANDS, ALTHOUGH IT APPEARS SHE’S BLOCKED MOST OF THEM–”

“YOU’RE DONE, BITCH!” roared Mad Cow, so loud that he managed to drown out the commentator–who went silent, anyway. This made Natsu pause, his brows knitting with fury.

It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. She’s not your daughter. He refused to look back, forced himself to take another step, then another. She’s just some fighter from another world who’s, apparently, out of her league. She’s not–

A loud slam, like a body falling on a mat. “SHE’S DOWN! I REPEAT, ’S DOWN!”

Natsu smirked. “See, dumbass?” he murmured to himself.

“IT’S ALL OVER, FOLKS! SHE’S–”

All of a sudden, a fleshy CRACK rang through the air, followed by an enormous chorus of gasps and cries of surprise from the crowd. A deafening silence ensued.

“... HOLY– UNBELIEVABLE!” the commentator managed. “A KICK FROM THE GROUND–AND O’NEIL'S BACK ON HER FEET! THEY’VE GAINED GROUND FROM EACH OTHER, AND MAD BULL–MAD BULL IS NOW TRYING TO RECOVER!”

Despite himself, Natsu slowed even as he urged himself to keep walking. Even as he continued to force himself not to turn back. Looking back is only a distraction. It’s not Nashi. That is not Nashi. It’s not–

“Man, I really hate guys like you, you know that?”

The seething voice was what made him stop, closing his eyes. There was just…something about it. A growl. A fire. Something that punched right back into his memories:

“Remember, breathe, and keep your eyes on my chest! That way, you can see my whole body at the corners of your eyes!” A combo, one which he pumped more speed and power to than before–throwing her off on purpose.

“Oof!” she grunted as she landed on her butt.

“There, when you fall– that’s when you make your comeback! Now that you’ve watched your opponent, and tricked him into thinking you’re down– now is when you get back up and blow them away! That’s how a Dragon Slayer fights! That’s how a Fairy Tail Wizard fights!” She stared up at him with huge eyes, shining with admiration, and flushed cheeks.

He grinned.

“So?! Get up! Always get back up, Nashi! I’m not asking the impossible of you–you can do this! I know you can!”

“I–I will!” she scrambled to her feet, fists blazing with gold heat as she lunged for him. “I’ll always get back up! No matter what, I’ll–”

His chest seized. He clenched his jaw, knowing he needed to make himself keep walking, but unable to do it. Even as people churned around him, trying to push past him, he found himself shoving them off, refusing to move from exactly where he was. One foot planted in front of the other. Half-hovering. Eyes still closed.

Whatever just happened had quieted the crowd, an anticipatory sort of silence that made him clench his fists, eyes still closed.

And then, Natsu’s world flipped upside down:

“You didn’t even bother to study my previous fights, did you?” Her growl carried across the hushed crowd. “Tch, typical…if you had, you’d know: You’d know I always get back up!”

His eyes flew open.

He whirled back around and watched, wide-eyed and world rocking, as the pink haired girl rose. Rolled her shoulders against her ears, one at a time. The grin was gone, a heavy, intimidating scowl having taken its place as she recovered, getting her feet back underneath herself, her stance back in place. Her nose was wrinkled in fury. Her eyes burned.

Natsu’s lips parted on a gasp as he stared.

Mad Cow scoffed, hunched and rubbing his chin with a hand like a mitt. Natsu guessed that This Nashi must’ve caught him there–probably with a kick, given the size difference. That must have been what made the crowd react with shock. They were recovering now, though, getting louder.

“And why the fuck would I bother to do that?!” Mad Cow shouted, dropping his hand. “I don’t need to! Every guy you’ve faced could’ve beaten you easily if they’d quit acting like even more of a little bitch than you! You shouldn’t fucking be here anyway…fucking birds, knowing dudes will take it easy on you so you can take advantage of it and collect the reward…well I’M NOT ONE OF THEM!” He roared the last part. The bitter fury in his voice was a kind Natsu was familiar with.

“Studying what you can find of your opponent’s fighting style–that’s basic! And you wanna sit here and bitch about how I don’t deserve to be here, you lumpy-headed fuck?! ”

“The FUCK you just call me?!” McCow snarled back.

“YOU HEARD ME, SHITWIT!”

“THAT’S IT!” the man shouted. “I’ve had it! I was gonna take it easy on you, but–”

“THAT’S MY LINE!”

It seemed that was both their limit.

They flew at each other. But now, everything was different, and Natsu doubted that anyone without a trained eye and fighting experience like him could recognize it.

Apparently, the commentator was one such person: “THIS IS–THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” the voice boomed, full of disbelief, as the girl caught the fist rocketing towards her face with a hard elbow, making Mad Cow let out a roar of pain. She kicked away an arm flying towards her head, and launched a sidekick at his now-uncovered stomach–one that landed hard. She built on the damage, bearing down on him as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own heels. A right roundhouse followed by a left to his head. Despite the fact he was obviously disorientated, he caught the first one– blocked it and tried, unsuccessfully to catch her foot–but not the second, which cracked into his ear and made him stagger, her chasing him and hammering him with surprisingly powerful blows. Each one of her hits accumulated speed and strength.

The commentator picked up again, saying something or other about “striking machines”, but Natsu didn’t hear. His eyes were wide, now, and glued to the girl cracking her shin into her opponent’s nose, teeth bared. The expression on her face…the fire in her eyes…the speed of her hits…her fighting style…it was like he’d begun watching the fight currently happening through one eye and a stream of memories through the other, his breath going still in his lungs–

“–No matter what, I’ll always get back up!” screamed the little girl, running forward and hammering him with fiery strikes, kicks, and even elbows. They’d only just started elbow work. Natsu staggered back with each good combo she landed. He put in the effort to make it look convincing, pride swelling within his chest.

“That’s it! Build on it! Faster…harder! C’mon!”

This Nashi slipped underneath and into one of Mad Cow’s big overhand hooks, the corrected trajectory of his fist barely skidding over her shoulder as her right fist tore up, slamming into his chin. Even as his eyes rolled and he staggered backwards, her expression was so mutinous it was almost funny.

But as good as the uppercut was, it turned out to be a set-up:

“LOOK AT THIS COMBO…CROSS, HOOK–WHOA! AN ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING LEG KICK! CLASSIC MUAY THAI-INSPIRED COMBO FROM TURNING–”

“FUCKING BITCH–!” Mad Cow roared, but his opponent cut him off with a voice like thunder.

“I’M THE BADDEST BITCH YOU’VE EVER MET!”

“I’LL ALWAYS GET BACK UP! I WILL! I’M GONNA BE A GREAT DRAGON SLAYER, JUST LIKE YOU! NO–I’LL EVEN BEAT YOU, ONE DAY!” Nashi took a deep breath, and Natsu grinned, allowing the pause in the fight, because he knew what was coming. The catchphrase both like his and not. Inspired by him, but all her own.

Her fists blazed brighter than ever. The sun illuminated her grin.“JUST WATCH ME, DADDY! DON’T EVEN BLINK! BECAUSE I’VE–”

“–GOT A FIRE IN ME THAT YOU’LL NEVER PUT OUT!”

Mad Cow’s eyes were wild with fear as he desperately swung for another, big lead cross–one which spelled his downfall. The Dragoness leapt off her left leg–her back leg. Her right shin cracked into his already dipping head.

He fell forward and bounced off the mat, limp as a ragdoll, while the audience screamed all around him.

Even as the giant fell still, she made for his prone form, fist raised, but didn’t fight at all when the black-collared man appeared seemingly from nowhere, grabbed her around the waist, and practically threw her away. Instead, This Nashi– The Nashi skipped backwards, smirking, and raised a wrapped fist.

And that was the realization which thundered through Natsu, now gaping up at the victorious, pink-haired fighter stalking towards the edge of the cage: not This Nashi. The Nashi.

After seven, grief-filled years, Natsu Dragneel was absolutely sure he had just found his daughter.

*1. Yes, there will be quotes from the original series (the anime dub, sub, or the manga depending on whichever version I like best) at the beginning of each chapter. HOWEVER. The quotes are not spoilers and are often only tangentially related to my plotline. The one for this chapter, for instance, is specifically about Edolas, but is not actually true of the world where Natsu has landed.

*2. Yes, I know the canon Edolas Nalu child is “Nasha.” I decided on “Nashi”, instead, for reasons which will be explained later.

*3. Sorry in advance, but I pretty much kept what little I remembered/liked from 100YQ and ditched everything I didn’t. Same with the original story, but way more with 100YQ. Idk what it is but even though I’ve read the whole thing, 100YQ has this unique quality where a lot of what happens slips straight out of my mind as soon as I’ve read it. In one eye, out the other. So you’ll just have to roll with me, sorry.

*4. Real-life inspiration for Layla (/Nashi) comes mostly from Ronda Rousey, whose biography I read and happen to have on hand, along with Kaoklai Kaennorsing (especially his fighting style). Those are the two main ones. If you’ve read My Fight, Your Fight, you’ll understand how Layla (/Nashi’s) personality is inspired by her–especially as you go on. I highly recommend looking up the Thai kickboxer/Muay Thai fighter Kaoklai Kaennorsing. He has been called the Giant-Slayer because he did, in fact, defeat opponents who had over 100 pounds on him. Watching his fights is just an incredible experience. Other inspirations include Rose Namajunas, Connor McGregor, and some others. There are also several fictional inspirations including and outside Fairy Tail which I won’t bore you with (some of them I’m sure fellow anime fans will be able to guess lol).

#nalu #fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nashi dragneel #nasha dragneel #gruvia #gajevy #jerza #fan fiction #fanfiction #2nd gen #post-canon #if this is wonky i'll fix it tomorrow. too tired now.#nalu fic

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