because I'm using @ft-platonicweek as an excuse to post htryds stuff, here's another microshot~ (nevermind that it's 2k. it's just a random scene promise)
For Day 5's Prompt: Poison
-
Early X784
Jellal sat at the bar and tried not to noticeably grimace every time he became aware of the layer of sticky grime on the surface. Not everywhere, but there was a spot near his arm that he kept hitting by accident. He vaguely wondered if it would help or hinder his goal to ask the barkeep for a wet cloth to clean it.Â
He decided against it. Instead, he nasally sighed into his drink and nearly finished the last of it, much to his chagrin. One glass and not much progress to show for his presence hereâand Jellal really didnât want to have a second. He didnât care for the taste but he didnât mind it either; the potential effects, however⌠Well. Jellal had, as his therapist would put it, âan understandable discomfort with activities that lower his mental awareness,â so he made it a point never to drink to the point of getting drunk.Â
If only the Black Rose guild wasnât so entrenched in this town and equally difficult to find. They scared off easily, as they discovered, and not even Erik had much success in rooting them out. The best lead they got was that travelers who stopped at this tavern had a chance of going missing, and concerned locals blamed the dark guild. But, since they were an awfully careful lot, they decided to be as subtle as possible. Which meant partially splitting up.Â
Partially. Jellal could rest assured that both Erik and Erza were nearby. Erik initially offered to take point at the bar and be more exposed, since he could drink literally anything, but they all agreed he would catch more if he lurked on the outskirts of the establishment, in order to hear a wider scope. That left him and Erza to act normal inside the tavern, like normal patrons. Either to lure out any of the members or to get any information at all without scaring these poor townsfolk away. They were jumpy enough, and for good reason. The rumors of this guildâs victims were⌠unpleasant, to understate it.Â
Erza didnât mind drinking but she, somehow, was a lightweight. And not a quiet drunk. So she reluctantly agreed to hang out around the billiards table instead, among the more social locals and travelers. Jellal, then, would haunt the bar and glean information from the barkeep himself. At least Jellalâs magic and constitution, for some reason, burned through alcohol like it did caffeine and calories. Theoretically. Acnologia surmised that it was because of the high energy cost, and the way it interacted with his body not entirely unlike a dragon slayerâs. Too bad it didnât literally give him magic lungs or a magic stomach like them. That might be convenient.Â
He finished the last of the ale. He didnât feel too different, which was nice, but he asked for a lighter brew on purpose. If Jellal thought it wouldnât be suspicious, he would have gone pure seltzer, but the barkeep already lightly scoffed when he specified blond ale over the standard stuff. The most Jellal got out of him was that he made no effort to be friendly and he never used anyoneâs name, but some people came up to the bar and he handed them an order without a word. There were regulars here and Jellal kept note of their facesâand who stayed, who left quickly and quietly, who came alone, and who only came in groups. The groups of people were not the ones with memorized orders, and they didnât hang close to the bar.Â
Jellal watched a woman with long, dark green hair and pale skin slink into a seat near him, with one empty in-between. She looked down the whole time, and when the barkeep ambled over, he slid her something clearâgin?âand she slid money across the countertop. A local who planned on staying, but only long enough for one drink. She had that general air of nervousness about her that many of the locals had, but she wasnât altogether unwilling to exist in public. Maybe Jellal should try asking something casual, just to gently check the overall atmosphere.Â
âRefill?â came the vaguely impatient voice of the barkeep. Jellal looked up to see him gesturing to Jellalâs empty mug with his chin.Â
Jellal pushed it forward with a nod, and the barkeep took it without another word. It was the easiest way to stay here unbothered long enough to ask what he wanted.Â
He couldnât parse much of anything through the generic din of the tavern, not like Erik could, but a burst of Erzaâs triumphant laugh cut through the noise. He glanced to the side to see she was playing some guy with a decorative shoulder tattoo at pool and clearly not holding back. She had that groupâs attention, and Jellal fought down a fond chuckle. That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, but Jellal settled for good, because nobody looked close to a fight.Â
The barkeep brought his glass back from the tap. As expected, it was the same thing Jellal had ordered before. Not that it should be surprising. If Mirajane and Chico had taught him anything, it was that all barkeeps and baristas had impeccable memories.Â
âThank you,â Jellal offered.Â
The barkeep rolled his eyes with a huff as he moved on to the next customer.Â
To his fortune (how pleasantly rare), the lady next to him spoke first. âTraveler?â she guessed.Â
Jellal nodded. âYeah, passing through to get back home,â he lied vaguely. âHowâd you figure?â
âAside having never seen you beforeâand youâre quite the standoutâno local ever thanks that grump. I think it gives him hives.â
âAh, my mistake, then,â Jellal chuckled good-naturedly, but he took careful note of it. âYou come here often?â
âSure. Itâs the only damn place to get some decent booze âround here.â She knocked back the rest of her drink. âThough Iâm sure a traveler such as yourself has seen better.â
He didnât need to be Erik to hear the unspoken warning. Like most people, she was careful not to say anything blatantly. The walls surely had ears, or at least the locals believed it so. Another thing to take note of. âProbably,â he replied, to answer the question at face value, âalthough I canât say Iâm a connoisseur in the slightest.â
âYeah? Well I suppose you look too young to be, unless youâre some fancy capital brat.â
Jellal chuckled with some real amusement. âOh, definitely not.â He did, however, add this to the mental tally of how many times someone wondered if he had noble blood in him, despite Jellal very emphatically not. He and Mystogan kept score. (Mystogan, a born prince, delighted in losing, although Jellal thought that was a foregone conclusion when Mystogan rarely engaged with the greater public except to be stand-offish, usually on purpose; not many people would ever know that he knew what all twenty variations of silverware was for.)Â
âIs that so? Shame,â she said without heat, but maybe, arguably, disappointment. Before he could parse what they might mean, the woman knocked back the rest of her drink and pushed it away. The noise caused the barkeep to glance over at the both of them, but he didnât move yet.Â
It reminded him that he should probably touch his refill. A few sips in and it shouldnât be strange for him to ask for water to go with it, right? With everyone so on edge, he didnât want to do anything to look out of place or suspicious. His identity as an outsider was already obvious, apparently. However, no sooner than he picked up his glass again, a presence over his shoulder interrupted him.Â
Erik appeared out of nowhere, with that careful flat look on his face that betrayed how pissed he was to anybody who knew him well enough.Â
âUh, can I help you?â Jellal asked to keep up the facade of being strangers, while loudly thinking, âWhat happened? What do you need me to do?â in case Erik had a way to indicate what was going on.Â
He made no move to answer either question. Instead, Erik reached over and plucked Jellalâs glass straight out of his hand and took a large drink of it, pausing only to swish it around his mouth with a scowl. Â
He slammed it back on the counter. âDonât drink that.â
Ah. Well, shit. Okay then. That was⌠very disconcerting. Of all the ways people have tried to kill him before, nobody had ever attempted to poison him. That he was aware of, at least. âThanks.â
Erza must have spotted Erik emerging from his hiding and she abandoned her game immediately to stalk over to them, frowning and with her cue stick still in tow. âWhat happened?â she asked, a little too loudly and obviously for his taste. They still had a narrow window to be subtle with.Â
âRohypnol,â Erik growled, dragon-style, deep in his chest.Â
âŚThat was worse than Jellal imagined. Fantastic. Heâll unpack that later.Â
Erza looked positively murderous. âWho?â she demanded lowly, almost dragon-like herself. He hoped Erik knew how to de-escalate her, because Jellal knew he didnât have a chance when he had been in the line of fire. Erza was much too protective.
And Erik was too, so maybe Jellal should have seen this coming.
âThe pair in the back left corner,â Erik started, likely knowing full well what was bound to happen next.
No sooner after he responded, Erza hefted the cue stick like a javelin and threw it straight at the aforementioned pair, who looked no different from the other patrons. The cue stick jammed into the wall by one guyâs head, who predictably jerked away with wide eyes. The tavern jolted along with the pair, but there was still a (small) chance at stopping an all out brawl and dismissing the crazy show of prowess as drunken behavior. Maybe. (Jellal was kidding himself, he knew this.)Â
âGuys,â he pleaded.
âBarkeep actually did it,â Erik continued, ignoring Jellalâs attempt at not making a big deal out of it. âSwitch.âÂ
Erza didnât need to be told twice. In a flash of light, she wrapped herself in armor and leaped over the countertop to swiftly grab the barkeep by the back of the shirt. He cussed loudly as she slammed him face first into the counter.Â
Now, the brawl was inevitable. At breaking the unspoken rule of not aiming for the barkeep, they gained all of the patrons attention. Some looked ready to come to the barkeepâs aid and someâlike the green-haired womanâstarted to run. Jellal sighed; there had been an attempt.
âThis was your idea,â he said, somewhat petulantly, even if Jellal wasnât really that upset over it. Erik would know what he meant.
âIâm flexible,â Erik quipped back. âThe asshole in the purple shirt is mine, by the way.âÂ
Erik jumped into the fray, catching the two Erza had aimed at before they left and slamming his promised quarry against the wall with a flash of dark red magic Jellal knew meant to hurt. Jellal, in turn, did not (for the sake of his sanity) consider what Erik heard to make him this upset. Instead, Jellal simply took comfort in the fact that nothing would come to fruition with both Erik and Erza like this. The only thing Jellal had to worry about now was making sure nobody got caught in the crossfire, and maybe ensuring they had someone to question that wouldnât be concussed, but he would take what he could get. Regardless, Jellal had no doubt that Erik and Erza would accomplish what they set out to do. Which⌠he would be lying if he said he didnât appreciate it. A lot.
A glass flew by Jellalâs head. He dodged it easily and shot a star arrow at a man trying to bludgeon a fleeing younger man with a broken bottle, and then swung it back around to blast a woman trying to approach Erik from behind. In turn, Jellal heard the schling of flying metal and a shout of pain from Jellalâs blindspot.
The chaos of jobs was always made safer by having friends by your side, after all.
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 Jellal knocked on Mystogan with a single knuckle, his hands otherwise full. âMyst? You in there?â He was fairly confident that his twin was actually in his dorm, for once, if only on account of Magnolia being under a thick layer of snow. Still, it was impossible to tell with Mystogan; he might rather be in the cold than borderline stuck in the dormitory with more people than normal. Or he could be with the dragonlings at their placeâwhich would be on account of being successfully forced to stay due to inclement weather.
âCome in.â
Fortunately, Jellalâs initial guess was correct. He managed to get the door open before toeing it closed. âI got you some hot chocolate. Itâs from Jetâhe got stir-crazy and made enough for the whole building,â he announced as a way of greeting. Jellal set the mentioned cup on Mystoganâs table, still yet to actually see where the other teen was.
âTell him I said thanks.â
He still didnât see him, but this time, Jellal could ascertain that his voice was coming from the bathroom. Except the bathroom wasnât closed. Curious, Jellal moved closer, just to seeâŚ
âIs that Shadow?â
Mystogan looked up from his position kneeling on the floor, the black cat in question squirming lightly in his grip. âYeah.â
Jellal wasnât sure what to make of the situation, so he settled on being bemused. âInside?â he asked, even though it was obvious that Mystoganâs outdoor adopted stray was very much inside. It was against the buildingâs policy to have pets, and Jellal was certain Mystogan knew this, but here he was, clearly trying to teach his cat how to use a litter box.
Oh. Yeah. That was a really good point. While he knew that the cat was used to being outdoors, Magnolia was experiencing an unnaturally intense cold snap. And Shadow was just a short-haired cat. âHowâs the potty-training going, then?â he asked, accepting the situation for what it was.
His twin shrugged. âI think he knows, but weâll see.â As if on cue, the cat trotted away from the litterbox, stopping only to briefly rub his cheek against Jellalâs leg. âHeâs having too much fun exploring, still.â
Jellal chuckled at the thought of the cat claiming Mystoganâs space as his own so quickly. The cat emphasized this point by jumping onto the bed, kneading the covers with his paws after only three steps. He could hear the cat purring from even a few feet away. âWell, I guess youâll find out soon enough.â
âSuppose so,â Mystogan snorted. âAnyway, you said something about hot chocolate?â
htryds microshot: A Few Times Acno Was Called A Dad
X780
The first time it happened, Acnologia wrote it off as an accident. Because it was, and he wouldnât want to unnecessarily embarrass anyone over it when it didnât matter. People made slips of the tongue all of the time. Especially when they were half-asleep and barely aware of what they were saying.
It was just surprising. That was all. Even more surprising was that the drowsy slip-up came from Levy.
The small girlâs presence in the library was not strange. If anything, it was stranger when she wasnât there. When Acnologia spent any amount of time in the basement library, seeing if the guild had gathered anything worthwhileâhe had a decent collection from the centuries, yes, but it wasnât as if he had ever bothered to show his face long enough in public to truly browse for anythingâit was common that Levy would set her stack of books near him, intent on being nearby.Â
It didnât bother him, because unlike the majority of the guild, she knew how to be quiet. And polite. Besides, the kids had taken a liking to her, so he had grown used to her presence in a variety of other places as well. The girl even came to the cabin sometimes. The kids trusted her with their secrets, and honestly, he believed that they made the right choice.Â
In turn, Levyâs interest in him evolved from excitedly giving him tours of the library to taking interest in his researchâand his knowledge. Acnologia had no intention of dragging a thirteen-year-old into his ongoing research on the origins of dragon supremacy magic, or his new project that involved compiling any information on etherious he could find, but Levy wasnât the worst deskside companion for his more benign research. She knew how to sit still. (Unlike the rest of his kids.)
Her fascination in learning from him was also baffling. Sometimes heartwarming, but mostly baffling. With Levy sniffing out Gajeelâs and Natsuâs ancient origins with minimal clues, she now knew just how old he was too. She skipped over any implications his history should have given and landed on wanting to know the most obscure things. And languages. Definitely languages.Â
Just now, when he was transcribing some of his Mildian notes and cross-referencing them to the modern guidebook, she had wanted to stick close, watching him translate and asking the occasional question as she did so.
The questions slowed as the night progressed, however, and soon Acnologia realized that she was asleep, cheek smeared onto her journal. Checking the time, he discovered that it was deep into the night, at hours that no human kid should be awake for. She knew better than to follow his example; Levy was well aware of his draconic sleep schedule.Â
He would have let her sleep, were it not for the terrible position her neck was in.Â
Acnologia gently shook her by the shoulder. âLevy.â
He would ensure she got in a bed, one way or another. She would probably prefer if it was her own bed, but he would set her up in the med bay if necessary. It would be more comfortable than slumped over a table.
â...five morâ minuâs DadâŚâ
Acnologia stilled.Â
Did she just�
No, she wasnât responsive, he decided.Â
He scooped her up carefully, although in the past few years, he had more than plenty of practice. Upstairs, it was.Â
With any luck, she wouldnât remember her words in the morning. Levy was easily embarrassed, after all.Â
âo0oâ
âTry closing your eyes and picturing it in your head,â Acnologia suggested, recalling some of his own early transformations, back before he had conscious control over which form he took.Â
Natsu was better with feeling than technicality anywaysâhe just needed the familiarity with the feeling first. Maybe focusing on self image and instinct would help him get there. Otherwise, Natsu would keep staring at his hands and only managing partial ones, spreading only by accident.Â
âHow do I know if itâs the whole thing?â he asked.Â
Acnologia was pretty sure he had seen Natsuâs full etherious form before, that first time he had tried it and had been completely swallowed by the magic swell. However, Natsu needed his own perception of it in order for him to get comfortable with more than claws and wings. Besides, there was nothing to say that it wouldnât change appearance based on Natsuâs current disposition.Â
He shrugged. âItâs hard to say. Letâs just see how it goes.â
Free of any specific expectation, Natsu relaxed. âOkay!â
It took a couple of tries to move his magic across the entirety of his body, but not long. Natsu was quick at picking up magic once he grasped the first part.Â
Natsu touched his horns gingerly, before turning to him with a grin. âDad, I did it!â
Acnologia blinked, Natsuâs words ringing belatedly in his head.Â
âAw man, did I miss something else?â Natsu continued, mistaking Acnologiaâs apparently visible panic for something wrong with his magic. He twisted around, stretching his wings out as he checked his back. âIâm missing a tail, arenât I?â
Natsu was acting any differently, so Acnologia made the decision to absolutely not address the slip-up. He learned magic from Igneel, so it was only natural. (Oh stars, could Igneel hear that from within the soul technique? He sincerely hoped he didnât. That dragon didnât need any more reasons to kill him.)
âDemons donât have tails,â Acnologia reminded him, shaking himself out of his stupor. (He wasnât trying to replace any of their parents. He wasnât. It was fine.)
âYou did great.â
âHey Acno, am I supposed to have only four toes?â
He absolutely did not sigh in relief at the use of his name.Â
âYour fifth is technically the one on your heel.â
The fourteen-year-old looked briefly horrified. Acnologia laughed, the rest of his own tension fading. Yes, everything was normal.Â
âo0oâ
âNeed help?â
Sting glared at him, a sight that was largely made amusing by the nine-year-oldâs precarious position half-standing on the counter.Â
âNo.â
Acnologia knew better than to damage the kidâs fragile ego (too much) so he stood to the side and watched as the pipsqueak struggled to reach the bowls.Â
By some miracle, he finally grabbed one and scrambled down without dropping it. âSee Dad, I told you I couldââ
Sting stopped himself abruptly. Acnologia tried very hard not to show that he heard it, lest he freak out Sting more.Â
Not addressing it was probably the best call. Sting clearly didnât mean it anyway.Â
Awkwardly, Acnologia simply grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and set it on the counter. âStill would have been faster,â he said, circling back carefully to the real topic.Â
Sting huffed, his tension fading. âOnly if you were already in the room.â
He would let him have this. Sting would get taller soon enough anyway.Â
âFair enough.â
âo0oâ
âHey um, Acnologia? Got a minute?â
He stiffened at the unfamiliar voice, though after a moment, he placed it as Macao, that purple fire mage. Acnologia studied the man briefly, not placing any immediately noticeable reason for him to walk into the med bay. Unless, of course, to speak with him.Â
âYes?â he answered, hoping it was a reasonable medical request.Â
âOne dad to another, how can you tell the difference between a distressed baby cry and a bratty cry?â
Oh dear Polaris he was not prepared for that question in the slightest.Â
He remembered that Macao and Enno had recently had a childâand that Enno recently left the guild altogether. (How much the two were related, Acnologia did not know.) It made some degree of sense that Macao might ask a doctor for advice, but why would he phrase it likeâŚ?
Oh hell no.Â
âYou realize Iâve never raised an infantâŚright? Or toddlers.â Acnologia responded awkwardly. He had come to Fairy Tail with three of the kids already, so he didnât fault anyone for not knowing that his experience didnât go far beyond what was witnessed. It was just a simple misunderstanding.
âOh.â The young father deflated a bit. âRight, right. Ah, nevermind then.â
Macao turned to leave, but he stopped short, hovering like there was more to ask. (Porlyusica was never bothered like this; it wasnât fair.)Â
âYes?â he prompted tiredly.Â
âHow do you do it?â Macao blurted, leaving him with no context. The man quickly amended this with a cough. âI mean, balancing mage work and being a father. I love Fairy Tail, and I donât wanna just up and leave or anything, but I⌠I want to be a good dad for Romeo. That comes first, ya know? And Iâve seen the way you care for those kids, and the way they look up to you, but you manage to do all that S-Class stuff too. I just⌠I dunno. I donât want to mess this up.â
Acnologia almost corrected Macao out of instinct: he wasnât a father. He had no intention of replacing any of their parents, or even pretending that he was in any way qualified to be a parent. NotâŚnot in the traditional sense, at least. He wasnât raising them from the beginning like Macao was. He wasnât some permanent structure in their lives.Â
(At least, he used to think he wasnât.)
Yet, Macaoâs question rang true to him, and he couldnât refute even just a part of it in favor of the whole. Because he knew exactly what Macao meant. He wouldnât have been able to put it into words like Macao did, but⌠the feelings were there, and they were real.Â
The title still felt wrong, when applied to someone like him, but everything else was there: the desire to do right by them, to keep them safe, to not stifle them.
To not screw everything up.
âIâm not any expert, butâŚâ he started slowly, painfully aware of how clueless he was and how he was stumbling blindly through this whole ordeal. He had messed some things up alreadyâbecause of course he hasâbut he had also learned from some of them. Acnologia wouldnât profess to be an expert on something as lofty as parenthood, but he did know a thing or two about his kids. He was still learning, too, whether that was catching up on things he hadnât noticed earlier, or simply watching them change. They were all different, but at least in his experience, there might be some of those generic truths that Macao was looking for. Some good principles to follow.Â
He thought of how sure the kids had been that their parents had leftâof the hurt and uncertainty they felt knowing they were sent to the future. Of how Wendy didnât like to be alone, or how Natsu needed assurances that somebody would be back even if he never wanted to ask for them. Or how Happy always wanted to tag along to random places, like to the market, or walking home. Or how even Lisanna would want to see him whenever he came back.
âSpend time with them, especially if you were just gone on a quest. When you do go, tell them where youâre going.â
He thought of how Sting wanted to be included, even when he was younger and tinier than he thought he was. Or how Gajeel needed something to do to feel important. Or how Rogue would get excited over small things that meant the world to him, even if just for that moment. Or how Levy would ramble about her own research, searching for his opinions even if he had nothing.
âEncourage them and pay attention to their interests, even if itâs different from yours. Let them try things, even if you know you could do it better. Answer their questions to the best of your ability.â
He thought of Erik, easily overwhelmed by stimulus but equally scared of silence. Of Mystogan, who hated being startled or crowded. Of Charle, who would deny her own feelings and pretend she was fine unless she was called out.
âProtect them, but donât let them feel bad for needing it.â
With a wince, he thought of how the kids had cried and screamed when he tried to leave, after telling them what he had done to the dragons. Of the way Natsu had shook when he found out that he had seen Zeref, and hadnât told him. Of how Laxus had remembered him six years after his encounter, demanding answers and closure without the confidence that he would receive it.
âBe honest with them. Especially when you fucked up.â
Macao wouldnât have done the things that Acnologia did. Hopefully, he never will. His relationship with his kid would be simpler, but even still, he was a mage, and those didnât have to have Acnologiaâs laundry list of issues to run into complications.Â
He cleared his throat, aware that he drifted from the original question. It was just a deep subject, that was all.
âYou donât have to abandon the guild, or anything else, really, but especially with your kid so young⌠Youâre right. He is going to need your attention first. When he gets older, heâll understand that you have interests just like he does. Maybe heâll gain an interest in magic. Maybe he wonât. I canât say that I have any special âbalanceâ figured out, because truth be told, I only joined the guild because the kids joined first. I just know that they need both space and attention, and how much of each depends on the kid. As long as you honestly get to know your kid, youâll figure it out.â
Macao studied him for a minute, and Acnologia suddenly regretted ever attempting to answer the question at all. Even if Acnologia was somewhat certain that he knew what he was doing with his kids, that didnât mean that it was true for others. Especially non-traumatized, human, two-year-olds. Those might be different.
But Macao nodded, smiling slightly. âYeah. Yeah, youâre right. It just takes time to figure it all out, doesnât it?â This time, he really did go to the doorway. âThank you. This really helped.â
Acnologia watched him leave, still a bit numbed by the implications of the conversation.Â
Was heâŚreally a dad?Â
He wasnât sure. He was sure that he would do anything to take care of those kids, and to make sure that they had a good life. Maybe that made him a parent after all; maybe it didnât. In the end, Acnologia decided that the label didnât matter all that much⌠but maybe, it wasnât something to be so afraid of.
Decided to do one of my beloved nerd-brotps, Levy and Jellal, for the secrets prompt for rare pairs week ( @ftguildeventsâ ) because the idea wouldnât leave me.
Nobody expects the two responsible noodles to enable each otherâs bad sleeping habits, but sometimes, thatâs what friends are for.
--
April X783
âWhat time is it?â Levy wondered aloud, stifling a yawn. She didnât look up from her book though, or make any attempt to go check for herself, and judging from the singular flip of a page, neither did Jellal.
âI have no idea,â he said, a shrug in his voice. âHonestly, Iâm scared to find out.â
Levy hummed in noncommittal agreement, finally tearing her eyes away from the pages to lean her head against the bookshelf. If she had to guess, they had already crossed over the four-a.m. threshold that promised that tonight was just going to be another sleepless one, despite their tentative agreement to try to head back to sleep by at least three. Unfortunately, her brain didnât seem any closer to wanting to sleep; judging by the steady glow of Jellalâs magic, he wasnât close either.
Yep. Another sleepless night, then. At least she didnât have any plans for tomorrow.
Levy turned back to her book, easily enraptured by the chapter, her mind happy to have an outlet to focus on. However, she was only another four or five pages forward when another thought hit her.
âMirajane will find us down here.â
Jellal stiffened beside her, the implications dawning on him as well. âWhen does she come in again?â
Levy was awake, yes, but not awake enough to find an answer better than âearly.â Unlike Chico, who hadnât cared to mother hen them over bad sleeping habits and pulling all-nighters in the guild library, Mirajane would check in here when she came in to open the hall officially. Levy was even beginning to suspect that she was coming in earlier and earlier specifically to root out the hall for people like them. Which wasâŚmostly just Levy and Jellal. (Master had given them both keys to the building, so it wasnât like they werenât allowed to be here or anything; but unfortunately, Mirajane wasnât supportive of all-nighters in the guild library.)
âSheâs going to kill us,â Levy decided.
Jellal closed his fist, his magic light flittering out. She could still see him by her script-lamp that she left on the bookshelf, though, so she saw Jellalâs face split into an almost devious grin. âOnly if we get caught.â
Levy snorted out a laugh, her expression soon matching his at the thought of pulling one over on the great Mirajane. âOnly if we get caught,â she agreed.
Iâm back at bullying the babies again for @febuwhumpâ Day 7: Used as an Experiment. Same strain as âPenelopeâ but neither that nor any knowledge of the htryds au is really required, since itâs pre-fic. Check the tags, but a general content warning for body horror and canonical character death.
--------
âRepeat injection type-seven at site-four. Take note of its oxygen levels this time, too.â
âTake note of these âoxygen levelsâ you salt-licking, shitty, pompousââ
âAnd somebody shut him up already.â
The researchers shoved that familiar leather strap into his mouth, and Donovan resigned himself to glare at the overly bright ceiling lights instead. They strapped an oxygen mask over him next, and though he couldnât look anywhere but up from his position on the table, he knew they were attaching the sensors next. He knew this song-and-dance. They werenât probing him for the shits and giggles, but they also didnât give a shit about him except for whatever fucked up knowledge they gleaned from their experiments.
This hell was familiar, but it was hell all the same.Â
The injections were the worst, because there was so much waiting. They shot him up with their shitty elixirs and waited and stared. When nothing happenedâor at least nothing to their likingâthen it was incredibly satisfying to watch them whine over it, but that almost meant they stared at him longer, and then they tried more fucked up solutions later. Other times, shit did happen, and he was usually the loser. His veins will burn, or his skin would turn purple, or he would grow a new limb, or he would spout magic he couldnât even use out of his eyes, or⌠or something. Sometimes the effects were temporary, and sometimes they werenât.Â
He didnât need a mirror to know that he didnât even look human anymore. His skin was gray and dryâscaly even, in some placesâand he had more toes than he was born with. Not to mention that his fingernails were thick and blackened. Well. The ones not rotted off, anyway.
Ugh, thinking about his fucked up body was not helping him pass the time before this next shitty injection kicked in. It was more fun when the researcher hacks let him rant and rave, even if they ignored him. They tried really hard to pretend like he was just some yipping dog, but then he finally drove them to madness and they liked to shut him up instead. It was both his win and his loss, because while he took victory in his ability to drive them insane, it deprived him of amusement.
Donovan knew that the only way out of this hellhole was death, but death didnât sound great either, being permanent and all. Honestly, he was just waiting for the day to come when these assholes shot so much monster juice into his system that he could successfully overpower their magic trinkets and slaughter them all. That would be fun.
Fantasies of ripping researchers limb for limb and making them eat their dumb hats did a fine job at passing the time.
ââ
Donovan laid on the metal floor, stared up at the metal ceiling, and he tossed his probably also metal bowl into the air. It spun upwards, just barely missing the top, and it came back down. He caught the bowl, glared disdainfully at the â002â stamped on the side, and he tossed it again.
God. If they were going to start waiting days in between their little science sessions, the least they could do was give him a ball, or something. He was bored out of his damn mind.
They were either having too much fun with the other poor saps that he was sure they probably had, or the âblack vomitâ incident actually scared them into letting him rest. And⌠Well, he would be lying if he said that he wasnât at least a little grateful for it, because that ordeal sucked, but he also hated sitting there in his dumb bland crate of a room, because⌠Well just because. He hated it, end of discussion.
He glanced over at the wall of tally marks he had started, but he gave up on that a long time ago. How long had passed didnât matter. Sometimes, he would still idly wonder if he finally made it to his 20sâthough it was somehow more depressing to think he was a grown-ass adult being subjected to this madness than a punk street rat sold by Boscan wranglers, so Donovan always ended his wondering there.Â
Besides, the trick to surviving this hell (until his day of reckoning) was to focus on the short-term stuff. If he could handle that, over and over again, then time passed.
Simple as that.
ââ
Donovan jumped, scrambling for purchase on the ledge he barely missed. His fingernails were practically claws at this point, so when dug them into the wood, it worked.
Gradually, the injections started to accumulate into the same things: claws, hardened skin, and elongated feet. The feet hurt like hell, especially at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at jumping with those demon feet, so the researchers gave him an obstacle course to shove him through nowadays.Â
He vastly preferred it to getting strapped to fucking tables, though admittedly, their idea of what he could and could not do varied wildly, leading to some less than stellar situations on his part. Though that was mostly because they wanted to set everything on fire or set metal rungs to five thousand degrees.
They really wanted him to be fireproof or something.
Spoiler: he was not.
But Donovan gave these hellish obstacle courses his best shot anyway, because for once, their interests aligned. He wanted to become stronger, and he was going to make them regret letting him become a monster.
ââ
So.
Perhaps he had been a little cocky.
Donovan was pleased with his growing speed and leg power, and while he still wasnât fireproof, one of their tests made his skin randomly flare up and become hot. It was incredibly annoying, and it could easily burn him if the roll of the dice was bad, but it also gave him an edge. It could burn other things too.
His fingertips were burning and his nerves were itching, so when the usual sap came by in the morning to haul him away, lax in the security of his usual success, Donovan lunged.
Tearing him open and hearing the guardâs surprised screams was every bit as satisfying as he dreamed.Â
He wasnât sure exactly how many of them he killed, or at least maimed. Donovan liked to think it was a lot, but it was probably only three or four before somebody got a good hit to his neck with one of the magic prods, and it all went downhill from there.
It was still worth it though.
ââ
They continued to fill his blood with elixirs, and his body continued to change. No matter how much of him broke in the process, and how much of his skin rotted and burned away, he grew stronger.
He continued to fight.
He continued to dream that he could make them all bleed.Â
ââ
âShard insertion is prepped. Ready to commence.â
âGet that fucking thing away from me!â
âHold its neck down.â
âSir. Are you sure you want to try this? The technique is antiquated. It could cause irreversible brain damage.â
âIâll give you brain damage!â
âAbsolutely. Our tests canât continue if Subject 002 continues this feral behavior. Besides, if it succeeds, then we know our studies of old Minstrelian lacrimas are sound. If it doesnât⌠Well. Subject 003 was a better success anyway.â
âSubject 003 was taken to the field for a completely different experiment. Subject 002 is still our most advanced one available for this study.â
âAnd our most volatile subject. Commence the test.â
ââ
They shoved a lacrima into his forehead like it was broken glass. It was the worst thing he had experienced in his life, and he had been through a lot of shit.
There was a ton of noise around him (maybe him screaming) but Donovan couldnât hear any of it past the buzzing in his ears and the excruciating lightning in his skull. There was a part of him who wanted to do anything to make it stop, to succumb and pass out, but he wouldnât.Â
He knew what those bastards wanted to do. They wanted to play with their antique slaver lacrima and make him a good puppy, keeping his beastliness alive while killing it at the same time. They might as well just kill him outright. He wouldnât be a prisoner in his own mind as well as this damn lab.
So if they wanted to kill him, he would fight that too. He would fight with everything he had left.
ââ
Everything was white.Â
It was boring.
He was stuck in it and it enraged him. The white was everywhere: above him, below him, around him, in him. In fact, there was no him, only white.
He fucking hated it.
He thrashed and he squirmed, and when the whiteness would give way to fuzzy grays and sparking purples, he grabbed onto it and he didnât let go. Except, no matter how hard he held on, it would fade from his grasp again.Â
Over and over and over and over again.
ââ
There was a spark of green, and like a broken record, he reached for it.
It grabbed back, and the white spun into oblivion.
âHey!âÂ
As the colors began to fight with the white, there was a voice.
There were often voices drifting in and out, just out of reach like the colors. They upset him, and he wanted to tear at the voices until they were shredded and burned, but he couldnât do anything.
This voice was clearer, because he could actually hear it. It also didnât immediately piss him off. He supposed it was a new voice.
âHey, can you hear me? Youâre more solid now, but youâre flickering a tad. Way more than Pippi did.â
This voice talked a lot, too. It made as little sense as the rest of the voices, but it was least amusing.
The colors settled, and he saw. A boy waved at him, even though he knew that even though the whiteness was gone, he still wasnât there. It was so annoying.
âOkay, a little less flickering now. Iâve never seen you before. I donât think. Iâm sure Iâve seen people that I donât remember, but youâre super angry and I think I would remember that,â the boy continued. The spark of green came from his eyes, and it was bright enough to pacify him while the brat rambled on.Â
âIâve definitely seen some angry bits in souls before around here, especially since it flares up whenever I look at all of those stiffy mages, but Iâve never seen this much. Of course, souls do look different when theyâre dead. Right Pippi?â
(Oh. He was dead. That was irritating.)
There was another color next to the boy, fuzzy in a clear world. He felt it more than he sawâbut that was true of most everything. It was annoying that one fuzzy thing still persisted though.
The other one fluttered and hid behind the boy, even though he still knew it was there.
âDonât be scared. Iâm sure the new guy wonât bite. Uh, I donât think souls can bite, anyway. Can souls hurt each other?â The other oneâthe other soulâflashed in fear at the boyâs words. It was funny.
âOh shit I didnât meanâ Sorry Pippi, itâs okay.â
Somehow the boy touched the soul. Maybe. Well, less of a touch and more of a resonance. It was confusing so he ignored it.Â
âI have no idea who you are, so I canât really guess at a name,â the kid rambled. âMineâs Bickslow, by the way.â
Yep. He had no idea who this guy was.
âYouâre confused, I got it,â Bickslow laughed. âWell, uh, thatâs Pippi. Thatâs not her name either, but I never knew it either. Hm. Iâll just call you Poppo.â
What? That was dumb.
âHey! You got any better ideas? I have a headache after anchoring you, yaâ know. My brilliance has its limits.â
He had no idea. He grumbled.
âThatâs right. Donât knock it if you ainât got it.â
Bickslow leaned against the metal wall, rubbing a hand against his face. It wasnât as bad as the white, but he hated that metal wall too, for some reason.
Well, this kid was more interesting than the whiteness, and he didnât feel half bad around him. Not as weak, even if he was dead.Â
Poppo might as well stick around.
-------
Does it count as an OC if the babies are real but have no revealed prior character? Regardless, Iâm going to continue to make myself emotionally attached to them.
Shoutout once again to AgentMalkere and their series for presenting to me the wonderful headcanon about Bickslow. I regard it as canon and I will never let it go.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Thatâs right a surprise microshot I literally wrote this morning because I was inspired by todayâsâDay 6âtheme for @whumptober2021â @whumptober-archiveâ: touch starved.Â
---
March X778
She kept touching him, and Acnologia didnât know what to make of it.
It was pragmatic at firstâriding him when he flew, sleeping against his wing during the colder nights. When Wendyâs mind reeled from remembering what the black magic scrambled, and she had been feeling far from her best, she stayed pressed to his side more often, sleeping more or just laying there. Acnologia assumed it was a normal response for a child who was borderline ill; she required more heat, and she wanted whatever comforted her.
However, as the days continued to pass, and Wendy returned to normal, it only happened more often. She would tug on his cloak to ask him questions, or lean against his side when they ate, or bury herself extra deep in his wings, or grab at his arm or claw whenever she wanted to show him something.
It freaked him out. Wendy was small, but she was far from stealthy. He could hear her or smell her approaching if he did not see her. Yet she still surprised him, in a way that he couldnât properly explain. No matter if he was in human or dragon form, her tiny hands could send spasms through his nerves and warm his blood too quickly.
Wendy did not fear dragons or strangers, and she had no reason to fear him. There were reasons, though. There were so many reasons, and he thought of many of them every time Wendy ran up to him with no heed of his reflexes. Acnologia could hurt her so, so easily. He didnât want to, of course, and he made no effort to, but all it would take was one accident or one lapse of judgement for things to goâŚbadly.
Yet he did not stop her. He should have, but he didnât have the heart to. He just stayed still and let her do whatever made her comfortable.
At least the cat was more cautious. Acnologia hoped that her friendâs intelligence (though not her sassiness, because damn) would rub off on Wendy, but it ended up being the opposite. A week in, and Acnologia woke up to a very, very small ball of fur pressed up against the heel of his foot, even though he could hear Wendy already tottering around, probably drawing. Even though Charle was smaller than one of his claws, the little area she encompassed next to him was felt through half of his body.
He waited for her to wake up and moveâwhich she didâall the while wondering how a single touch could make him feel the way that he was.
It happened again. Acnologia was tending to the garden when Wendy shuffled up to him and immediately inserted herself between his arm and his side, wrapping her arms around him. âHi Ac-nii,â she mumbled sleepily.
She started bouncing between calling him that or âAcno.â He ignored the implications of the former, because the six-year-old had already proven to be unable to pronounce his full name, so she settled on similar yet shorter sounds. That was all.
âAre you cold, squirt?â he asked. Acnologia had asked before, because it was winter in the mountains, even though he sensed that Wendy knew (at least unconsciously) how to circulate her air magic within herself to keep warm. Still, he had retrieved old furs he had kept, and gathered and cleaned new ones, so Wendy and her cat had something to burrow in when they couldnât use him. He also kept a fire going and repurposed some cloaks to fit her if her clothing was ever too thin.
Still, she kept getting close to him, and he couldnât help but to wonder if it was colder than he realized. Degrees of temperature meant little to him; all he knew was that it was cold, even though spring was approaching early this year, and he was still lethargic. (Not that he could sleep, truly; not with a six-year-old and a kitten somehow in his care.)
His side was more sensitive, comparatively, having thinner scales than his back. The sensation carried over to his human form, because even something as small and delicate as this child sent his nerves into a warm frenzy. Not in a bad way⌠but it was weird.
âNo,â Wendy responded, not moving away from him.
Acnologia was at a loss. âIs there something else you need?â
She was quiet for a moment, before she gave a quiet, âA hug. Youâre big enough to hug.â
He froze. HeâŚhadnât considered that the reoccurring habit was simplyâŚout of want.
Wendy hugged Charle all the time, though it was practically just her way of carrying the kitten. But when she mentioned his size, he realized that what the two girls did wasnâtâŚdouble sided. Charle was too tiny to do much of anything, especially with those stubby little arms.
It was obvious now that Wendy was simply an affectionate girl. For practically being a sky dragon spawn, it made sense. Dragons were lone creatures, but when they had packs, they were close-knit. Humans were similar, in that aspect. And WendyâŚ
Wendy had practically been alone. The specter was there, somewhat solid and pretending to be a mass of people, and maybe their touch could fool someone for a moment, but it would never be prolonged. Not the way Wendy would justâŚstay there, practically snuggling.
Oh. She did need this, didnât she?
âOkay,â he whispered back, and Wendy responded with happy fervor, pressing herself deeper into his chest and wrapping both her arms tighter around him. She couldnât even wrap the entirety of her torso. She was so tinyâso fragile.
He was hyperaware of this, as he always was, when he slowly lowered his arm to return the gesture, just as she had requested. Acnologia focused on the sensation of feeling, acutely aware of how differently his nerves were mapped in his form than in the other, so he wouldnât apply too much pressure by mistake.
Tentatively, hesitantly, the dragon hugged the girl.
The warm sensation in his chest bloomed and doubled. If Acnologia was at all aware of his own desires or feelings, instead of being single-mindedly focused on not hurting Wendy, then maybe, he could have admitted to himself that he was just as touch starved as she was.
---
I have a headcanon that all of the dragon slayers are very snuggly. Especially since they accidentally developed a little dragon pack early on, and all of these guild people are clearly not the lonesome-dragon types, so uh... Yeah. Does this have to do with my desire to make dragons just like giant reptile cats? Little bit, yeah.
He knew the tea was a trap. Or at the very least, that there were strings attached, because Porlyusica had been uncharacteristically vague about why she wanted him to come, but really, he should have seen this coming.
âIâm retiring.â
Acnologia set his tea down slowly. âDidnât you already retire?â he asked tiredly.
Porlyusica huffed. âI tried to, but those fools of Makarovâs always needed me for something, be it some injury or magic ailment. As Magnolia doesnât have a competent doctor of its own, I begrudgingly continued as a part-time physician for Fairy Tail. I never intended for this to last, however.â
âWhat, have you been training an apprentice all this time?â he asked, but it was more of a teasing statement. âI didnât picture you as the type.â
Her scowl was expected. âOf course not. I donât have the patience to train some human in my ways. But I donât have to, now that youâre here.â
The words registered slowly, but he saw where she was going all the same. âNo.â
âAcnologia,â Porlyusica scolded. âI know you donât have the equipment I do, but beyond being a practitioner of healing magic, you are knowledgeable in medicine and ailment, despite pretending not to be.â
âIâm not pretending about anything. I havenât practiced medicine inâŚâ Shit, how long had it been? It was the 700s now, and it had been the 300s⌠ââin four hundred years!â It had been strange enough reawakening his healing magic, but that was only a matter of what amounted to muscle memory. Still, the nature of healing magic was simple; it was good for cleaning and closing wounds faster than the body could do on its ownâbut it only mimicked the body. It wasnât medicine, or the study thereof. That was much more complicated. Porlyusica knew this. So, when he said he was rusty, he meant it. What little that heâs reviewed through readings barely scratched the surface of it.
Porlyusica could not produce magic, but she could still attempt murder with her eyes. âYouâll learn,â she countered, and it might as well have been an order.
Acnologia was in between a boulder and a canyon. She was persistent, but she was also out of her mind if the woman thought that he magically acquired people skills better than her own. (They were both hopeless.) Not to mention, for the first time in centuries, he was busy. âI understand where youâre coming from, but I canât do anything full time either. Sure, I help out where I can, but between the emergency S-Class jobs and the kids, I donât have that kind of time to dedicate. Besides, with my sleep schedule the way it is, somebody is going to dieâand I tried re-syncing to a human sleep schedule, believe me: it didnât work.â It took longer for dragons to reach the resting heartrate of deep sleep, and they stayed in it far longer. Toying with that cycle, back when he was afraid someone was going to totter off of a cliff or starve to death had beenâŚpossible, but stressful.
His (very logical) reasons didnât persuade her. âAnd you think I dedicate my life for these reckless humans? Iâm not asking you to change careersâjust to let me retire in peace.â
âPorlyusica,â he argued. âI honestly donât know as much as you do. Besides, Iâm not even licensed anymore.â
He was fine playing medic and healing wounds, but there was something terrifying about truly being a doctor again. He⌠He couldnât. Shouldnât, even.
âIf you have questions, ask. Iâd much rather deal with you than some human brat,â she countered easily. âAnd you were licensed, so it wouldnât be an issue stepping back up.â
âYes, I was,â he pressed, emphasizing the past tense of it. âFour hundred years ago! Medicine advanced leaps and bounds since then. Not to mention everything Iâve forgotten.â
âJust as much as it devolved. Healing magic isnât even practiced anymore. It died with dragons, gods, and prideful humans. Time doesnât matter that much. Itâs fleeting anyway.â
Acnologia clenched his teeth, trying not to stare at his palm. Saying he was âlicensedâ at all was a stretch. Back in the Minstrel region of a few centuries ago, doctors wore a badgeâa tattoo on their left palm. It was something that had to be received from another individual with the brand, and nobody knew how the tradition started. He wasnât even sure if people did that anymore, down there. The title came with the promise to do no harm and to help whenever possible; it was a creed he threw away when he chose violence. It was just as well that when the dragonization process transformed his body from the inside out, it removed that mark along with all of his old scars.
âPorlyusica, please. I get that you want to retire, but I donât know what you expect from me.â
âTo keep living,â she snapped. There was a note of desperation in her voice that Porlyusica rarely let show, so Acnologia wisely shut his mouth. âTo be there. Acnologia, you know Iâm aging. Quickly, even. I donât know how much longer this body will last. This world may not be mine, and these humans arenât my people, but Iâm not so callous that I would abandon those sentimental fools that took me in.â Porlyusica sucked in a breath, swiftly turning so she was no longer facing him. âYouâre still young. Youâre understanding them faster than I ever could. You would be better for them.â
Damn. Acnologia wasnât sure what he could possibly say to that. HeâŚunderstood where she was coming from. It was hard enough to manage yourself when everything around you was a new and difficult concept to grasp. Honestly, he was amazed by the fact that he was interacting with people at allâwith some understanding, even. Though Porlyusica gave him too much credit in that matter; he never would have managed it without the kids. Turned out, suddenly caring for time-displaced dragon slayer children presented the opportunity to learn things fast. Sometimes, his head was still spinning.
Not that it made him any more comfortable with the idea that Porlyusica presented. However, it wasâŚtrue, what she said, about lifespans. Acnologia now aged like a dragon, like Porlyusica now aged as a human. Though he wouldnât label her as about to kick the bucket, no matter how she spoke. It was also true that he was technically around everyone more often; if he was there, he would deal with a situation before somebody had to go get Porlyusica. He was begrudgingly more efficient, and Acnologia never minded until the notion that he really was the first line of medical defense slammed into it.
âFine,â he relented softly. âBut theyâll still have to bother you first in the winter.â
Porlyusica looked far too smug as she finished off her tea.
HeâŚhad a lot of reading to do. Acnologia focused on that, and not the unsettling realization that this was somehowâŚofficial now. Though, maybe he should be trying to give himself some more credit; if a killer could be trusted to raise kids, then maybe this wasnât all that different.
---
One of the reasons I canât hate the anime is that the bit they added about Acno being a doctor pre-war is just so golden for juicy contrasts and conflicts of character. Also, I know this is not a Frosch piece like I thought, but inspiration came to finish this so at least yâall get something this week.
âNo, you are. Maybe not Sting. He makes sense.â
âYeah I do!â
âFine, Sting likes his food boringââ
âHey!â
ââbut youâre still weird. How are you not sick?â
âIâm a cat.â
Acnologia was well used to the odd and sometimes heated discussions the kids could get into. Which was fine. They had a lot of energy, and it was better than using that energy to burn down the house or knock holes into the guild hall. However, he also learned that he could quickly get wrapped into them if he wasnât careful.
That being said, there was a fire outside, and he was still jumpy after that pine tree combusted last week, so he went to investigate anyway.
âIâm not in the kitchen,â Natsu quickly defended when Acnologia approached them. He could see now that Natsu, Rogue, Sting, and Happy were cooking fish over a fire (which was at least well maintained, so Natsu was getting better at that). Whether they were choosing the outdoor method because it was easier for them, more fun, or because they werenât allowed unsupervised in the kitchen (Acnologia was tired of fixing busted appliance-lacrimas and putting out grease fires) he didnât know. They seemed to be well maintained now, other than the fact that Natsu and Rogue were both doing horrendous things to their fish.
âI know,â he responded loosely, still suspicious. As long as they werenât setting the forest on fire, it was fine.
âNatsu was teaching us how to make campfires,â Rogue explained. âFor jobs.â
âAnd fishing,â Sting added. Acnologia guessed that the focus became on fishing, based on the amount of fish they had.
That seemed reasonable. Odd, maybe, but reasonable. It was a good skill to have, and he supposed that Natsu could build a fire without magic for elemental consumption purposes. âOkay.â
Satisfied that the situation didnât seem to need adult intervention (he would still pay attention from a distance just to be sure), Acno turned to leave, but Happy stopped him.
âAcno, can you try my fish?â he asked, and Acnologia found himself looking into Happyâs pleading toddler eyes and unable to deny him. Especially since the fish didnât look charred to the abyss like Natsuâs and Rogueâs.
âOkay,â he relented, accepting the offering and taking a bite. It wouldnât hurt anyway. He had a feeling they were arguing over something of this sort, and this was probably dragging him into itâtheir intent stares all confirmed thisâbut he had yet to figure out what it was.
Whatever. It tasted fine. He used to not fish oftenâthere werenât as many high up in the mountainsâbut ever since taking in Natsu and Happy (namely Happy) he had become re-familiar with them. At least fish didnât change all that much in four hundred years. âTrout?â he guessed, unsure of what the children wanted from him.
Happy was overjoyed, however, bouncing and waving his paws, while the others looked at him with some undiscernible emotion. âSee! See! Acno likes it!â
What was he somehow agreeing to? âI like what?â he asked tiredly.
Happy blinked up at him innocently, though there was a hint of mischief there too. âRaw fish.â
âRawâ? Oh.â
Acnologia realized that the fish wasnât cooked at allâit was likely just pulled out of the river. That was probably why the kids were staring at him oddly, because he normally cooked food when he was around them. He did typically cook his food⌠Except sometimes he didnât. It was troublesome as a dragon and unnecessary. Had he really not noticed?
Well, he noticed the bones. Those were annoying.
âHow?â Sting asked, as Natsu and Rogue made some expressions that were a mix between curious and horrified.
âI thought people couldnât do that,â Rogue asked. And the last thing Acnologia needed was Rogue thinking it was okay to eat raw meat, because dragon slayers werenât immune to food poisoning.
The reason felt lame though. ââŚbecause Iâm a dragon.â
(And then they called him âBig Happyâ for at least two weeks following.)
--
Kids do the kid-shenanigans, and Acno is not the best human role model. Not the the slayers are purely human. But theyâre more-so than he is. (Otherwise known as one of the few moments Acno and Happy are alike, and nobody lets him live it down.)
