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okalanissolis · 3 days ago

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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . . pt. i | | series masterlist

focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier) word count: ~4.1k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: we start this story with essentially a history lesson, to keep you up to date on all of the Complex Relational Lore between all of our characters. also, before this past is considered previous is currently the only part of the story i actually have planned. so. enjoy it, this part of the story will probably be the only part that truly makes complete coherent sense. but, in the wise words of okalani akana in her swag girl era: fucka dat, we he'e nalu.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ i kick a rhyme drinking moonshine / i pour a sip on the concrete for the deceased ⌟

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— in hoku city there were three gods that everyone prayed to and, in secret, one power that bound them. supplication for the latter was far more clandestine, whispered and sequestered — in exile, made strange. ʜᴏᴋᴜ, ɴᴇꜱᴏɪ, ʙᴀᴅᴀ. star, earth, sea. the three gods that, when destiny conspired and came crawling, created the refuge of the bay on which hoku city was erected. favoritism named the city hoku when it was nesoi who ruled over land, and bada that, with her heaving oceans, carved the bay. but hoku was a star, and the city fell right beneath it's never blinking truth. it was only inevitable that one would be remembered more than the others, and in hoku's complacency, it would only be fair that bada's volatility and nesoi's jealousy would grow.

the ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴꜱ was the intensity that kept the city from eating itself whole.

— serpens, short for the serpens syndicate, was no true god, though certainly you'd be forgiven for thinking as much.

— formed generations ago (eight? six? what did it truly matter when the bones of them no longer existed, long pulverized, buried then exhumed, desecrated, then revered on an altar?) when a woman stepped off of a boat and onto the anticipating shores of a fetal city, barely christened with the name of hoku — the recrowning of a deity once forgotten, now animated anew and worshiped again, a cycle beginning at it's center. she had a dream of creating an empire — a whole world that would bend to her whims, small enough to swallow whole, powerful enough to seat her progeny for millennia — and create it, she had. first as a true business, a coalition of handpicked merchants who would come to rule the city with the foresight of a deified star, the omniscient eye, and the volatility of the omnipresent sea that raged around them. their trade was primarily alcoholic spirits and all manner of goods that could be sourced from the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

in those days, the prohibition had yet to emerge. in some ways, it was harder, more convoluted — byzantine. to hold the stopper on someone's desires is so much simpler when you are the only voice commanding vice. to control the flow of sin is a straightforward, near effortless task when there is only one fount, and you it's supplier.

— generations ago, when the world was less complicated, and the laws held with a velvet glove rather than an iron fist, the serpens syndicate was formed. not yet a godhead, something commonplace and admired. perhaps sharper, then, as it navigated streets it did not yet own and, with lazy skill, intricately wove itself into the desires of the people there. and with time, the corrupting influence of that diety named ꜱᴀᴍɢᴏɴɢ, that which is illicit becomes so much more tantalizing to hold. first it was little things, and then the shadows came to dance closer to their vision, and serpens had no choice but to embrace them or be swallowed whole.

— eventually, the elders of the serpens died and their prestige passed to the children beneath them. markets swelled and companies rose, and other things, still, ebbed with the water and, violently, were pulled to sea. only the serpens was strong enough to survive. only the snake born of sky and sea, tending to the ground beneath, could curl itself into the heart of the city and, triumphant, keep it's watchful eye keen.

and when prohibition came knocking, an unfortunate response to the political fear of a red light district growing stronger than it's keeper... well, who were the serpens to venerate: the gods that birthed them, and by favor, swelled their size? or the lawmen that cowered in fear, clawing at what never belonged to them to start?

— it was an easy choice, the former. and an evident decision for the people of hoku to raise the serpens up and, in their devotion, both conceal and empower them.

— when the prohibition hit, the serpens was headed by the mysterious ᴇʀɴᴇꜱᴛ, eldest of the meunier family and heir to the most vast and impressive organization hoku would ever see. open and inviting by name, but hidden yet renown, envied and feared, by reputation.

it was he who expanded their previous business, opening more hidden speakeasies — nips for the well to do that just needed something to take off the edge, bars for those who only wished to partake in their established addictions, and more clandestine holes in the wall for those that were used to the darker shades and umbra the Serpens had long been expected to supply: canned heat, bottled torment, and tinned apparitions of ebullient euphoria.

bootlegging, drug peddling, pleasure dealing, death. the gods could save you from misfortune and lead you from disgrace, but the serpens could command all that sin and vice and all those evils that itched the back of your screaming throat.

— so pray to them. buy a bottle of their greed and spill a drink onto the pavement. the cops would never know if it was you that offered the liquid, or them that spilled it in confiscation. but the serpens would know. they were in every window, on every street corner, just around the block. they would see you downtrodden, and they would appreciate your awe, and they would raise you, when the moment became opportune.

to the serpens, master of all three: the omniscient eye, the omnipresent sea, the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— ernest was a man that, however paradoxically, lived up to his name. warm. friendly. true. and yet, to those who would interfere with his business and create problems or messes (things less than ideal), he was unequivocally feared. his ire was your death; your mistake his boot on your broken neck, a miscalculation...? something bloody would be trickling into the rust-stained drain, the slow drip absinthe that was distilling into liquid gold in the serpen's hands.

most of the grotesque work — the unrefined, the unsightly brute force — was left to the delegation of ernest's right hand: ʙʏᴇᴏɴɢ-ʜᴡᴀ. a man to be equally feared, a name to invoke misfortune and curse. how the two met was a secret all-too-well kept. one day he appeared: the shadow of a crime lord, the brass knuckles of his right fist.

— even when they became fathers their resolve never weakened, their terror never lifted. ꜱᴏʏᴇᴏɴ, born in august, the daughter of a kingpin's right hand, and ᴅɪᴀɴᴇ, born two months later, the dauphin of a power much larger than the self, a weapon so deadly even ɪᴋᴜ himself — death incarnate — could only fathom the shallows of it's striking blow.

if anything, the rise of the next generation simply made them all the more careful in their planning — more visionary, more cutthroat.

— soyeon was born the eldest, and the shadow in her fathers deeds caressed the hair on her head and worshiped the light in her eyes until they were as dark as all that she would be groomed to do. diane was her opposite and not-quite-equal — someone on a pedestal already raised, above in rank and not apologetic of it... yet.

— when it came to diane — darling of hoku's underground world, devoted of that which sat above — many things would sink in slowly, overtime: eat their way through her thickened skin and gnaw at the tenderness encased within. yet was her eventuality, yet was all that she could not abide, and yet would be the knife pointed at her treasonous heart at the beginning of what lies beyond.

it was her father's fault, if we're to place blame.

after all, was it not him, that, in the giddy delight of having a daughter, suggested to his wife that his progeny should have a name no less witty and ironic than his own? ernest for a kingpin. truth for a crown of deceit. they should name her something cynical — acerbic when you faced it unblinking, bathed in truth. sarang, he said, through bubbling laughter: love, when it would be most impossible to abide.

and it had stayed that way: her second identity, her secret name. the epithet she only used with the closest of her kin, the appellation she only whispered through unsteady breath. sarang. love. oh, how it betrayed her. oh, how it shackled her to the floor of her deception and ever-growing lies.

— daughters of monsters and daughters of men. hoku crawled with them and it was the power of ʜᴏʀᴋᴏꜱ — oath — and that almighty mixture of convenience and duty that combined to draw the fates of diane and soyeon ever close, so they would tangle upon bloom.

after all. when there was an education for one, why should there not be opportunity for both? when there was such rich history between the fathers, why not a friendship and devotion for the daughters?

so knit their lives to be experiences in tandem. cut the cloth so their fraying edges could tangle rather than break. school together, extra circulars joint, assembled schedules with collective goals; if their lives were in constant collaboration and concert, their goals and dreams, too, might coalesce and unify — perhaps their bond would triumph over that of even their fathers and their leverage, in the end, would eclipse all the control and power the serpens had ever known.

— from their youngest years, diane and soyeon were together. it was only natural that companionship should rise, and no one celebrated it more than the demon of hoku and his calloused right hand.

byeong-hwa and his quiet pride (the secret, near half curve of a schadenfreude smile; the confident satisfaction of a brief exchange of half-muttered words), the mastermind of an empire didn't express much, but in his silence was a world of self gratified honor and his daughter and her closest companion were at the epicenter — all he could focus on, all he could contain. his blessings were all skills they would hone to a knifepoint, his devotion a paved road.

ernest, by contrast (a man indulged in his freedom, so high above the rest that he bound those that would not be bidden and answered to only those he so carefully chose), delighted in the two girls with ripe expression and open hands near constantly filled with the tangible, though on rare occasion and most cherished, the cerebral. diane, to whom he gave all his wisdom and wove all of his bleeding love, and soyeon, who he blessed with clairty of vision for all her ambition.

— two fathers, two daughters. and all that to say nothing of the mothers who bore them and ever after rose them up. and for a moment longer than the stasis that holds you at the fear of death, and in am embrace softer than the hands encircling your eiderdown throat, the two girls received all that virtue and knowledge surrounding them, and they were happy.

"i thought your name was diane."

"it is."

"then why does samchon ernest call you sarang?"

"it's my secret name," and the younger girl giggled, flipped upside down on the stairs she would climb like monkey bars, dreaming that this staircase was a freedom beyond one she would be granted at this age, still prepubsecent, a liberty perhaps not reached even in the whole of this life. "only the people who know me best call me that. family."

and for a long moment soyeon just stared at diane. upside down as well, moreso hanging than dangling, too stubborn to admit to the vulnerability in suspension, she looked at the girl beside her — this built in friend, this given companion that she grew to care for more dearly than any other — soft. then... "can i use it, too?"

"of course! i was waiting for you to."

— and it would be only too familiar when such familiarity would rot and envy sink in her teeth, anchored deep with her claws.

— diane was the heir to hoku, and soyeon her second fiddle. a weapon for diane to one day direct, a voice in her ear that could be disregarded or misattributed.

it began in those meetings, almost mock sessions — child's play — where diane would speak her beliefs into action, her desires into assignment, and soyeon would see the heart of the blonde leaping from its place and tumbling out of her uncertain throat. soyeon would challenge that, the way she had their whole lives, the counsel she was bred to provide, and her tutors would set their jaws and flicker their eyes.

when she speaks, her word is law, her ambitions reign.

never mind the softness that turned her bile into forgiveness, the compassion and love within her yielding and spreading thick, a knife turned to it's side, indulgence forgetting the edge to favor the spine.

— they were little moments, and the thoughts, though poisonous, petty. diane's tenderness would blind her one moment, and the next she would dictate a torture graphic and bloody to the fool who had dared to break byeong-hwa's good knee. the resources of her station could enable her volatility, but without the fervor of passionate emotion, it was a tendency more likely to dull from lack of use.

and so it was a simple question of fitness — a lingering hypothetical of what if that rooted itself in the dark places where twisted things like to grow, and, by degrees, spread it's uncertainty into the deeper beliefs in soyeon's mind.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— it was a sort of self gratifying joke in the meunier household that sarang could see the truth of people and diane could see their use.

sarang, imbued with love from the moment she was a thought in the minds of her parents (a hope, a joy — something to be cradled and held — cherished, for all innocence in hoku city was fleeting and met a tragic demise) , could always see the truth of someone despite any will to hide — verity and devotion bowed before her: unblinking, unmotivated, bare.

diane was less romantically inclined. she had to be, by nature of her role — her existence, her duty, her reign. she could only see the use of people. it was her only saving grace. if she began to entangle herself in the hearts of men, bog herself down in the histories and vulnerabilities of their lives, it would be impossible to do her work. it would be foolish of her: imbecilic to see the heart of people — to focus on all their love, all their life, all their vibrancy, still bleeding and not yet cold. it wouldn't serve her in the end, and so diane had to let those ideals rest.

— it was certainly a work in progress — this distinction between the two parts of herself.

which was more true? which would win in the end? these were questions without answers, quandaries lacking resolve. who are we really? that which we project or that which we feel tearing us limb from limb, clawing inside out, feasting on our rotting flesh, and undeterred, forever starting again?

— but let us begin here with the duality of sarang and diane. the same person - two different people — the same values, different ideals. diane neatly dissected herself on the daily — crafting identities and electing character (cherry picking the best of her, discerning those weaknesses that fit the narrative, burying those foibles that could not), a vulture that picked herself clean and only consumed that which would not fester between her teeth.

— and when she would go out and into this world that would only see her by degrees, she would often keep another name in her back pocket. secrets upon; secrets lies upon lies. you could never truly know her because you only knew a half, a part, a fragment. when she was old enough to hold her own and old enough to where her educational needs differed from that of soyeon and the two of them on occasion would part only to return again, half changed, diane chose a second friend. a bodyguard, mainly. a protector in name.

— his name was ꜱᴀɴ. a year younger than her, but with a built twice her size. fearless, intense, courageous, genuine. how he found his way into the underbelly of hoku city was a predictable tragedy, a commonplace loss; but how he managed to safeguard the softest parts of himself in a place protected and secure, still half transparent to be seen by the eyes of one so clear as sarang was his true peculiarity.

it was unsurprising, in the end, when diane chose him to be her armed weapon, her chosen conspirator, her useful friend.

— once, when san was newly appointed, and diane hoped to hide a fascination she had with the softness of humanity, she slipped away from san in the crowd. he'd caught up with her and all of his barreling force of anger burnt into ash when he realised what she stooped over was a stray puppy — still infant, terrified and matted and cold.

"you could take him to the complex. the demon of hoku would never say no."

"i know." and sarang was uncharacteristically quiet, like this was some secret, some vulnerable part of her character that untombed itself and didn't belong here — at least, it was still somehow premature. "but innocence has no place in the serpens. i don't want him to bury himself alive and resurface as something changed."

and they stood there, the guiltless whelp before them, whose only sin was not being loved to the point of sanctuary.

"don't slip away from me again. your father is on every corner of this city and if i'm seen without you and a hint of concern, it will be my head." and it was sarang, then, that nodded her apology and agreed. "you don't have to hide softness from me."

— and it was that sort of understanding, that sort of freedom, that compacted and grew, spiraled and engorged — feasted on opportunity as any serpent might — and became the monster curled in the little demon's lap.

it certainly led them to where they were, now.

— the courtyard of the police academy was simple and no nonsense, by a general rule: bare. but during special events like the one being celebrated today, blue ribbon (with shades from the deepest midnight to the softest powder blue) was wrapped around columns and set to flutter in the mild breeze. whole families sat, poised and proper, in unyielding folding chairs. they clapped politely when names of graduating students were called, and peacocked, beaming, when the name was an honor their own.

diane sat comfortably toward the back, her eyes following police academy hopefuls, then the crowd that so warmly received them, by turns.

san was alongside her, as always, but their conversation was nothing but niceties for the duration of the ceremony — nothing like the conversation they'd had before they'd resolved to arrive.

"why are you so set on seeing the police graduates anyway?"

— establishing a civilian face in the most unlikely of locations. taking stock of who was still trusted with the youngest recruits. finding an exposed and vulnerable underbelly that soon enough, could be exploited, gutted, turned. the police were slowly understanding the profile of turncoat that the serpens was partial to adding to their payroll. it had been soyeon's idea to poach where they were least likely to expect: idealized graduates, still wet behind the ears with nothing of value, yet, but the potential and fire of youth.

there was another younger serpens member hidden somewhere in the crowd, sharp minded ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ who ernest, these days, was partial to favoring whenever he needed another mind of judgement than just diane and soyeon was busy, aiding the few senior members to fill the gaping hole left by byeong-hwa.

(he'd died last fall, days before he swore he'd finally retire. a bad omen, some had said: vengeance and penance would always force the worst to reap what they sow. there had been a few retirements after that, some loyal enough and peripheral enough to be true resignations, some far too close to the trigger to see any reprieve other than what lay on the other side of a bullet and it's ashen powder. they were of an age, it was understood. for some of them, there was no expertise, just liability. according to the laws of the gods, a roulette with fate and a handgun was the most they deserved, and an honor they could rest easy with on another plane.)

at the end of this ceremony, diane would convene with seonghwa and together, they would find the rabbits easiest for the blow. perhaps the girl few clapped for beyond polite acknowledgement; ever still, the boy with a smothered nervousness in his gait, like if he looked over his shoulder, he'd draw attention to his own smoking gun.

— one of the graduates had a grin that near broke into a boisterous laugh when his name was called "ʙᴀɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴ." the row in front of diane erupted into the most fearsome of cheers, and they stood, perhaps to make up for their sitting so far back.

diane stood, too, if only to size up this boy that had made her very ground shake with raucous thunder.

when somehow they locked eyes, it was all her power to not immediately falter.

— when the speeches were through, sarang sat to linger.

she and seonghwa shouldn't leave and arrive at their mutual second location quite so noticeably. even in the hubbub of a graduation ceremony. even on a night the nips were sure to be bought dry with young people looking to celebrate, hiding their illegalities under the alibi of youth.

— she could have moved. anticipated the movements that would wrap her string of fate around her neck like a noose.

she stayed rooted to her spot.

— bang chan, the ebullient graduate from before, came proudly over to his family before long. he caught her gaze, big brown eyes flicking briefly to the muscle beside her, before turning to who must have been his sister and laughing, pulling her into an embrace.

it took less than one whole look for san to disappear from beside her, and when bang chan was done receiving congratulation from his sea of adoring family, sarang — diane — was quite alone.

"hi."

and she echoed his greeting before finding more of her voice. "congratulations on your graduation."

"ah, thank you." and he was bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. "it wasn't anything anyone else hadn't done."

"the whole courtyard burst with applause."

and he had all the humility of laughter. "that was just my family." and he waved to the group of familiars retreating out of the archway, a promise to catch up soon. his smile twisted into something still warm but searching. "i saw you standing, though. we can't have met before; i know i would have remembered you."

and for a moment, there was a sound on the tip of her tongue, sly and smooth, serpentine sooth. but a different moniker tumbled out when she thought better, a contrasting life.

a fake name. chan savored the taste of lies on his tongue.

"are you here for anyone i might know?"

"no," and a half truth was followed with falsehood, the genuinely twinkle in her eye accompanied with a smile she could not truly own. "i came to get out of the house, and this is one of the few places my father allowed — so long as i brought my cousin, of course."

chan's eyes brightened, then. relieved. he pressed slightly closer, conspiratorial, light. "your bodyguard."

"that's the desired affect." a laugh. then here, a half calculating, half hopeful hint. "but a push over. give him money for ramyeon and he'll vanish."

and when he left, it was with the parting wish that he would see her one day, again.

— when san appeared at diane's side as though he'd never left, it was mutually understood that they'd never speak of this bang chan and report only to seonghwa those names easily overtook: cho miyeon, seo changbin.

in the end, nothing would come of nothing and only dust follows dust; those things we do in the space between living and death — where nothing can live and no one can die — are always clandestine but teeter on meaningless. we can only have that which we are given to hold, and if there are no hands in this space of oblivion, and the omniscient eye cannot see, are we held in contempt for the arteries we burst and the chambers we disintegrate on our way to be free?

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. i | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - hoku city is a port city where there is currently one major gang at play, named the serpens syndicate. the serpens is an old organization that was started long ago as a legitimate business selling alcoholic beverages. as time went on, they expanded their business to things less than legal, and their control over the port makes them strong and rich.

2 - hoku city recently became a prohibition city though it is not well maintained. the serpens is older than the prohibition laws and has many ways to circumvent the system, though the police force is becoming savvy to their m.o.

3 - the current leader of the serpens is ernest meunier. he has an heir, diane meunier. ernest's right hand man was the late byeonghwa, who has a daughter, soyeon. byeonghwa died and soyeon, groomed to inherit his place, keeps ernest informed with the aid of older informants, who are slowly "aging out" of the life of crime.

4 - diane meets bang chan, a recent police academy graduate, when scouting for police officers the serpens will add to their payroll. she keeps their meeting and acquaintance a secret from all others, barring san, her bodyguard and friend.

now onto pt. ii . . .

#if this breaks containment..... uhh..... pls pls pls be distracted by the GREAT world building and emotional gravitas #stay for vibes ONLY if you are not part of the specific group of 4 other girlies of whom i am dedicating this to #thank you thank you if you have questions and ARE one of the chosen four pls feel free to send an ask i would ADORE it #lilo.writing

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fairydares · 2 years ago

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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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