I’ll take literally any nalu smut you’re willing to give
“What’s wrong, Natsu?” Lucy asks the man lying beneath her, blinking down at him innocently as she drags the tip of her pointer finger from his collarbone down his chest, tracing the outline of his taut muscles.
He hisses beneath her touch, heels digging into the bed as he tries to gain some leverage against her, but Lucy is faster. She stays just out of his reach as his hips buck against her, hard cock trying to grind against the inside of her plush thighs. With a frustrated growl, his head tilts back against the mattress, his throat bobbing with a harsh swallow as her fingers trail even lower, flirting dangerously close to the hem of his underwear.
Lucy giggles. “Big, bad Dragon Slayer,” she teases him, the pad of her fingers tracing the silver scars above his hip, “all tied up and at my mercy.” She’s practically purring, lips curving up in a devious smirk. To emphasize her point, Lucy’s hand dips between their hips, and Natsu swears as her lithe fingers wrap around his covered cock, giving him a brief squeeze before releasing him just as suddenly.
“Lucy,” he chokes out, sharp canines digging into his bottom lip as he watches her hand slip between her own thighs instead.
“Just watch,” she tells him, moaning as she strokes her clit through her panties.
So I found this half finished fic in one of my folders and I’m wondering if I should finish it? Here’s just a little excerpt! I think it’s part of my planned fic Edelweiss.
His fingers drum against the arm of the iron throne, warped metal twisted into a near unrecognizable shape, rusted and bent at odd angles. Scrap metal juts from the backrest, wicked and sharp, and Natsu himself has received many cuts from the dangerous piece. He never wanted a throne, never wanted to stare down at others, but here he is now, sitting on an iron throne that was once Igneel’s. It should still be Igneel’s.
Natsu’s lips curl back as he thinks of his former mentor, the infamous captain of the CS Andromeda, a commandeered airship won in a game of cards from a drunken Naval Officer. Natsu forgets the man’s name, doubting he still works for the royal family in Crocus. Not after losing one of the fasted ships in their arsenal. Igneel was always a gambler, more so than even Natsu, but moreover he was a swindler and the best damn thief north of Minstrel. His guild was centered in Hargeon, near the ports, docked airships and their water based cousins frequenting the city. He used to trick the officers into having a drink at the Dragon’s Den, the tavern located in the lowest floor of his guildhall.
Igneel’s ploy was always to challenge them to a game of cards when they were stumbling fools, robbing them of their money and honor as sailors. He called them easy money, robbing them blind if he didn’t like the look of the men. Natsu once complained to him, back when he was younger and running from himself, still holding a moral high ground. He told Igneel there was no honor in stealing from drunken men.
Igneel told him if a Naval captain would abandon his post for rum and a pretty face, he had no honor to begin with.
Summary: Natsu and Lucy are from warring clans, each acting as a powerful warrior for their people. Natsu’s clan consists of skilled blacksmiths, crafting weapons from the earth and enchanting them with lost elemental magic. Lucy’s people are Spiritwalkers, powerful seers who can make contracts with ancient spirits from the bones they leave behind. (enemies to lovers AU)
AN: New AU based on @constellunaa’s warring clans AU which is AMAZING.
*also on FF, so please be sure to drop a review there and follow the story if you want to!
One | Two |
The trees are quiet for the first time in days as she wanders through the woods, not a sound but the rush of the wind and the panting of her spirits as they dart through the trees, trotting along beside her. The wolves appear to float as they run, barely making contact with the ground, paws merely skimming the earth. They're faded at the edges, translucent in the light, hazy. It's been days since she last sent them back to their bones, afraid to be without them in the forest.
It's risky, she knows, to keep them awake for so long. Without rest they could crumble to dust, and that isn't what she wants at all. Lucy has seen many spirits lose their ways, their bones beginning to rot due to neglect. It is not a pretty sight. They become feral, malevolent, and turn on their masters without preamble. It is rare for it to happen, especially now, when the spirits are needed the most, but it is a possibility.
She'll have to let them rest tonight. Send them to sleep for a day or two, let them gather back the energy they've lost over the last few days. Lucy's watched them dim further and further each day, the wolves ghosts of themselves. Perhaps she could call a different spirit during the night: her Lion, her Lamb.
The wolves don't appear to mind either way, Plue toddling along beside her and Fen and Sharsa weaving through the undergrowth in a strange game, chasing each other. They don't go more than a hundred feet in any direction, staying close to her side, though she doesn't blame them for that. They know the Skinwalkers far better than her. Lucy has seen them in the trees few times in her life, but she's never been ripped apart by those monsters.
If she had, she doubts she would ever come back to these woods.
Truthfully, she never meant to come back so soon. The woods are more dangerous than she previously thought. It was foolish to return so quickly after seeing one those beasts lurking in the trees. Lucy was always taught that where there was one there were likely a dozen more, hiding, blending in with the darkness. Skinwalkers are solitary hunters, her mother told her once, they'll fight and bleed for their prey, but they stay in groups regardless. She could never understand why. They do not need protection from anything. Nothing would dare come after them, yet they still form groups, clans of their own. Almost a family, though she would never call them that.
The thought of it makes her sick. Seeing only one Skinwalker terrified her down to the bones, left her fear struck for a long moment. She doesn't want to think about being surrounded by those monsters, left to be picked apart, the flesh stripped from her bones, eaten or added to their rotting corpses she wouldn't know.
It would be a terrible thing to have her bones left in the forest, her body left rotting in the undergrowth. She found many skulls in the woods, smaller animals mostly, but also giants among creatures: the Gods Elk, with their antlers skimming above the trees, tall as mountains, proud creatures revered as the most powerful of spirits; Skarmuth bears several times the size of a man, fearsome beasts that could tear any person to pieces; creatures she couldn't even begin to describe, all mangled and picked clean of their pelts, nothing but blood and bones.
Lucy shouldn't have come back to the woods, but the trees have always called to her like no other. She always finds herself among the forest, her spirits running alongside her as she weaves through the worn paths in the dirt, moving with practiced ease. Lucy is like her mother in that regard; she was always wandering through the forest when she was still alive, something luring her deeper into the shadows each time.
Spiritwalkers have always been connected with the forest, though Lucy isn't sure why. There's something about the stillness, the way the shadows dance across the ground, almost magical. The way the woods seems to pull at her spirit, drawing her in like a whisper in her ear, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Her connection to the forest is powerful yet dangerous. There are monsters lurking in the trees, and each time she steps passed the tree line she risks never coming out, but she can't force herself to stay away.
There are times she wishes she could, but Lucy wouldn't be able to live with herself if she left so many spirits to wander through the woods, trapped in the darkness for the rest of their existence. They deserve far better than that. Lucy's spirits are her friends, the only constants in her life. They've been there for her when she needed them most.
A low whine comes from her right, and Lucy glances down to find Fen nosing at her hip, green eyes bright, unreadable. Hs black fur is growing shaggy, winter coming close. She's missed the snow. The winters aren't nearly as harsh in the Summerlands as they were back home, but she's grown used to them. She misses the cold though. The immense heat of the summer is suffocating for her, though she likes the spring. The flowers are nice.
Absently she drags her fingers through Fen's fur, scratching behind his ears. "What?" she asks him, grinning faintly when his tongue lolls from his mouth, tail wagging happily. He whines again in response to her question, staring up at her expectantly. His ears flicker at the tips, eyes tired, and Lucy knows she'll have to send them all back soon, though she's loath to do it.
Lucy doesn't know where her spirits go when they're away, but they always come back changed. There's something strange about them when she summons them again. They're quiet, something shadowed in their eyes. The wolves are always snappish when they come back, only for a moment or two. Once Sharsa nearly took off her hand, the typically sweet wolf striking a her for the first time she can remember.
The scars are still on her hand, three curved silver marks, a crescent following the curve of her thumb and forefinger. She was lucky not to lose her hand, or a finger at the least. Lucy was never afraid of any of her spirits until that moment. She'd never seen them so rattled.
Lucy never summons them on the night of the new moon, when the sky is darker than any other time. There's a strangeness in the air when the moon is good, a power. It is similar to when the moon is at its peak, though much darker. Her mother used to tell her that the night of no moon brought bad magic along with it. There has always been a violence in the air on dark nights, no moon to guide the spirits way.
The night of no moon is approaching swiftly, only days away, and Lucy knows better than to keep her spirits out until then. She is not so much a fool as to play with dark magic.
There's an underlying danger that comes with summoning beastly spirits: some are tricksters, some looking to steal the souls of their masters, as if feasting on them might return their bodies to a physical form. Those are the stories they tell on dark nights, when the moon is gone and the only lights in the night are those from the fire and the glowing crystals from the northern caves, though most of those lights have since gone out.
They used to terrify her as a child, the tales of dark spirits and those who cast them. There used to be more Spiritwalkers that played with restless spirits, but most are gone now, disappearing into the trees, consumed by their own madness, others eaten by their own summons, their piles of bones turning to dust, swept away with the wind.
No one has dared play with dark magic for many years now, not since the outbreak of war between themselves and the Dragonborne. Her father, Lucy thinks, would try to summon dark spirits if he could. He was never born with the gift to summon, their ranks a dying breed. It made him angry, violent at times. Envy would crawl his veins until it found his heart, twisting it into a shadow of itself.
In some ways, she can understand his reasons. She would hate to be powerless. They have their spirits and the Dragonborne their magic, conjuring fire and lightning. To be without any magic at all is not something Lucy can imagine so easily.
Lucy chews her lower lip, fingers winding through her hair as she finds the bones woven through the strands. Her hands move slowly across herself: her hair, her neck, the bones dangling from her wrists, some sewn into her clothing. They are as much a part of her as her own skin.
A cold nose presses against her hand, so faint she barely feels it. Without looking down, her fingers wind through shaggy fur, a low whine coming from one of the wolves, though she doesn't know which, her gaze locked on the trees ahead of her. A dark blur races through the undergrowth, low to the ground and light on its feet. The wolf beside her whines again before giving chase without pause.
Smiling at them fondly, Lucy lets her eyes follow their forms as they wind through the trees, as much at home in the woods as they are with her. There are times she wishes they could talk, like some of the other spirits can. The wolves listen, but it can be lonely conversation, though she's hardly ever alone. There are not many spirits that can still find their voice. Many can only make the sounds they were capable of in life, though death illuminates many paths for them to take.
Spirits able to speak are few. Most are ancient, bound to their bones for decades, mythics in their own right, revered as Gods by others. It is a truly wondrous thing to hear them speak, their voices seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, like thunder rumbling through her bones.
Lucy was only contracted to one spirit capable of speech, but that was years ago.
She does not know what became of Aquarius. She was lost during the wars, there and then gone. Lucy was not able to find her, though she searched for days. It nearly broke her heart to lose Aquarius, the spirit the last piece of her mother Lucy had. Aquarius' bones were a gift when she was young, and though the spirit was abrasive and almost nasty at times, she was the greatest friend Lucy ever knew.
It was a grievous time for everyone after those battles, many hearts broken and bones lost. Lucy mourned Aquarius for days, weeks, sometimes she still finds herself mourning the loss when the moon if full and the lacking weight on her throat becomes more noticeable than most days. Her bones were likely broken, cracked underfoot, and Lucy knows there is no way to get them back. The fields of war were burned to the ground by her clan, lest the smell of decay bring the Skinwalkers hunting.
Her fingers slip from her neck and the place where Aquarius' bone should rest, dropping back to her side with a dull thud as she continues along behind her wolves. The forest grows quieter the deeper she travels, her mind beginning to wander, Lucy lost in her memories.
Her thoughts drift to Natsu without her notice, their short time together branded in her thoughts. It's been coming back to her more than she'd ever care to admit. She hadn't been expecting to run into him in the woods, especially not so close to the tentative border between their clans. It was strange to see him again, their last meeting far from friendly. Though, there was little else she could do but fight him during the battles. They were never friends, hardly knowing each other besides casual exchanges at war peace meetings.
A branch snaps behind her.
Lucy stills before she can take another step, breath catching in her throat as she cocks her head slightly, straining to hear the sounds of the forest over the pounding of her heart. Lucy's blood roars in her ears as she attempts to peer over her shoulder, not wanting to make quick movements, lest something be watching her.
Skinwalkers aren't the creatures that wander in these woods. There are plenty of predators, beasts and myths alike. It can be dangerous in the woods, natural predators prowling about. Usually the wolves notice them before she does, but some manage to slip by. It's a rare occurrence, but with how long she's been keeping them from their bones, she can't be surprised. They begin to lose their senses after a time, so faded from the earth it's like they've begun to rot.
There's another snap, and the wolves stop running. Plue, toddling along at her feet, suddenly whines, high and long, and Lucy grits her teeth as the others begin to growl, low, warning sounds ripping through the air. Fen and Sharsa whirl around up ahead, coming back to her, but they're too far away. Her fingers creep along her side, her palm finding the hilt of her blade at her side, the bone smooth beneath her touch, the weight of it familiar.
A leaf crackles under a foot, the grass rustling, and she sneers as she whirls around on her heel, knife raised defensively over herself as she swings at the thing behind her. Her wrist is caught before she can land a blow, warm fingers curling around her in a near bruising grip, strong but not violent.
She's about to rip her hand free and swing again when she sees a familiar shock of blue hair, a dark scar winding along the right half of his face. Jellal squeezes her wrist slowly before releasing her and taking a step back, expression grim as always. The wolves are at her sides quickly, one at each hip, but they don't snarl, as familiar with the man as she is.
"Easy, Lucy," Jellal murmurs, raising his hands as if to placate her. He eyes her almost warily, his mouth twisting into an uneasy frown. She's been more twitchy lately than she would care to admit, and she knows that her friends have noticed as well.
Gray slinks out from the shadows behind Jellal, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He quirks a brow a her, a wry grin on his face, though there's something strained about it, tense. "She almost got you that time, Jellal," he remarks casually, smirking at the other man.
Lucy huffs, gaze flicking between them before snapping to Jellal, an annoyed tick forming between her brows as she glowers at her friends. "What were you thinking?" she chastises, unable to stop herself from reprimanding them for being careless. They should know better than to creep up behind her like that. Lucy has always been fast, even more so with a blade, and it's a small miracle that Jellal was quick enough to catch her. "I could have taken your heads off!"
"But you didn't," Gray cuts in, shrugging slightly as he stands off Jellal's right. He grins at her, but it's tight, pinched at the edges, and he won't quite meet her gaze. Lucy rolls her eyes at his remark, and Gray's expression slips into something more pensive, his brows narrowing as he stares at her. "You know, you've been awfully jumpy lately." He turns to the other man. "Hasn't she, Jellal."
Lucy's breath catches. "I have not been jumpy," she denies, fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. She wonders if it shows in her eyes that she's lying. After her encounter with the Skinwalker—with Natsu—a strange pit has formed in her gut, fear but something else as well. She hadn't had a conversation with a Dragonborne before, not a real one, and she isn't sure what to make of all of it.
They aren't friends by any means, but she never has hated him the same way he seemed to hate her. She's never hated any of the Dragonborne, not really anyway. She only hates what they've done to her friends, her family. She's seen so many lives torn apart.
The boys don't speak for a long time, and the silence draws her attention. When she looks up, they won't meet her gaze, seemingly entranced by their hands and the forest around them. It's with a bitter taste in her mouth that Lucy realizes something is wrong.
"What?" she asks, taking a step closer to the boys. Her eyes flick between them curiously, watching their expressions shift almost nervously. Gray takes his lip between his teeth, avoiding her eyes as his hands curl into fists at his sides. It's a familiar expression on Gray. He's always been one for avoidance, never liking to argue with her. He's never been a pacifist by any means, but he never has liked confrontation when it comes to those he cares about.
Her gaze snaps from him to Jellal when neither of them speak. The other man doesn't look away from her, almost daring Lucy to hold his stare. Anyone else would look away, the scar covering Jellal's eye unsightly, his eye milky. He hasn't been able to see from that eye in many years now. He dares her to hold his gaze and Lucy does. She's never been one to back down from a challenge, least of all one from him.
"Is something wrong?" Lucy asks Jellal, a firm edge to her words. She tilts her chin to better meet his eyes, lips pressing together in a thin line. At her feet, Plue whines, unused to her tone, but the other spirits quiet him as Lucy and Jellal continue to stare.
Jellal sighs, his eyes slipping shut as he looks away from her first. He turns to Gray, the pair of them sharing an uneasy look that Lucy doesn't like. She never has liked when they conspired together. When they were younger, the boys were always playing silly games with her, poking and prodding at all of the right buttons to make her angry.
"Lucy," Jellal begins slowly. His back straightens, his shoulders pulling back, and she knows it's bad news before he can say anything further than her name.
Her eyes narrow, her hands curling into fists. The wolves begin to growl, winding around her legs in a way that's more protective than anything else. "Jellal," she snaps when his silence persists, her friend not saying another word. "What happened?" she demands. Lucy would rather he simply tell her than continue to dance in circles. She knows he would never look so grave if it were merely nothing. Gray as well is too silent, unlike himself.
"It's nothing bad," Gray tells her, looking at Lucy in the eyes for the first time since he walked out of the woods. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, playing with something, and she knows without having to look that it's one of the bones Ur once left behind. He doesn't say anything else, gaze reassuring, but she's in no mood for these games.
Her lips press into a thin, unamused line. "That," Lucy begins, a bit snappish, "is not an answer." Neither Gray nor Jellal react for a moment until they exchange a lingering look, Lucy becoming increasingly annoyed with them.
Gray swallows, taking a step closer to her, forcing a half-smile onto his face. She's always been more compliant with Gray. He's been her friend for more years than Jellal, and she would trust him with her life. Where she'd be prone to snapping at Jellal, with Gray she'd be calm. "It's your father," he tells her, and Lucy hears a subtle "again" follow his words.
Lucy sighs, turning her back on Jellal and Gray, her eyes slipping shut. "What about him?" It comes out as less of a question than a snide response, but if they notice they don't question it. Lucy's relationship with her father has been snappish in recent weeks, even more so since her encounter with the Skinwalker. His rallies for war have been more aggravating than usual, Lucy having no tolerance for his demands.
He wants another war. He wants her to summon beasts and return humans to their corporeal forms, but she refuses to do either. To summon a dark beast could be the end of her entire family. It's taboo to summon the most powerful of creatures; while their strength is great, the beasts are more vicious than most other spirits. They've lost their sense of self after so many years locked away in their bones. Their minds have rotted away, leaning them nothing but senseless monsters.
Jellal cleans his throat, gaining her attention once again. She glances at him over her shoulder, Jellal half hidden in shadows. His expression twists into something firm, and at his right Gray purses his lips, something icy in his gaze. "He wants to speak with you," Jellal tells her, nonplussed. He always has had a habit of separating himself from situations, as if putting on a mask might make him believe the bad things don't matter.
Lucy stares at him for a long moment, gritting her teeth. Jellal's jaw pops, a muscle jumping beneath his skin as his teeth grind together. His milky eye locks with hers, unseeing, but she refuses to turn away from him. "I am sure he does," is all she tells him. Lucy turns away once more, snapping her fingers to gain her spirits' attention.
The wolves trot along behind her, silent as they ghost through the trees. Jellal and Gray exchange words behind her, not heated but urgent, their voices clipped. She makes it several paces away from them before Gray swears under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear it.
"Lucy!" he calls after her, near desperate in the way he shouts after her. It makes her steps falter, Lucy stumbling as her bare toes scuff against a rock, a sharp ache ripping through her toes. She's only ever heard Gray's voice take a tone like that once, and that was when he was nine, begging Ur not to leave, not to fight.
Ur left anyway, but Lucy has never been like Ur.
She turns around calmly, a heavy weight to her gaze when her eyes lock with Gray's. She doesn't speak, barely breathes. She doesn't need to, her snappish reply unnecessary as it burns against the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply waits, eyes imploring as Gray wets his lips, seeming to search for the right words to tell her what's happened.
"He's called for a war council again," Gray tells her simply.
"You need to stop this," Lucy snaps at her father, voice sharper than intended as she glares at him from across the room. Her patience has worn thin over the weeks of him badgering her, her anger growing hotter the more he presses for a battle. Their arguing has gown tiresome to her, nothing changing in the way they fight, the confrontations always the same. Her hands curl into fists as he sneers down at her, lips curling back into a beastly snarl.
If it's a fight he wants, than she'll give him one.
Jellal and Gray stand behind her, warily looking between Lucy and her father, their arguing growing louder the longer it continues. Jellal's fingers slide around the hilt of his blade from the corner of her eyes, his grip tight, threatening in the way he holds himself. Jellal is taller than either Lucy or her father, one of the tallest in their village, and he's always been a powerful fighter, loyal to the other Spiritwalkers in the village, and Lucy knows that if Jude gives him a reason, Jellal wouldn't hesitate to attack the man.
Lucy eyes the curved edge of his blade with interest, gaze slipping away from her father for only an instant, drawn to the way the light from the fire reflects of the iron weapon. A Dragonborne weapon. Her father was always suspicious of Jellal, thinking him nothing but a filthy spy. Perhaps that's what drew Lucy to the silent male. Jellal was friendly enough, though closed off, silent about his past, and Lucy learned not to ask.
"We need to fight back!" Jude takes a step towards her, crossing the small distance between them in three easy strides, her room small, housing little more than her bed and a fire, a pit for her to enchant bones. His stomping feet make the entire hut rattle, and she sees Gray and Jellal both stiffen, their postures becoming threatening as they stare at her father.
Lucy sighs, shaking her head slowly. She waves a dismissive hand towards her friends, stilling them as she implores them to wait. "Fight against what?" she asks her father, a bitter edge to her words. Lucy thinks she could laugh if the conversation wasn't so serious. It's always the same thing. "We have peace."
There's nothing left for them to fight against, only old grudges held between the elder members of their clans. They've begun to bleed into the younger generations, the years of resentment between their clans growing into something monstrous, larger than it ever should be. The Spiritwalkers are a dying breed, war tearing them apart, their clan reduced to a shadow of itself.
"A tentative peace, Lucy," Jude reminds her, sneering down at her. His eyes narrow in disgust, though she doesn't know if it's at the Dragonborne or her. Jude's fingers drum against his side quickly, the loud beat of every tap seeming to echo in her ears, loud and agonizingly frustrated. His teeth grind together harshly. "If those monsters chose to—"
Huffing, Lucy cuts him off before he can continue. "Those monsters have done nothing to us in months," she says, clipped. With the winter coming they're all merely trying to survive. though the winds and the snow aren't nearly as harsh as in the north, food is still scarce. And with the looming threat of the Skinwalkers hanging over them, they have much more to worry about than a feud. "If you plan an unprecedented strike—"
Her jaw snaps shut before she can finish, the words sharp, painfully so. To strike first would merely be giving the Dragonborne an excuse to slaughter them. Her clan has never been weak, but they serve as no match for the raw physical power of the Dragons. They've always relied more on their stealth, their speed, their skills with summons.
A direct attack on the Dragonborne could weaken them, but only at the cost of their own warriors.
"We could wipe them out," Jude argues, turning away from her and beginning to pace through the small room. He glares at the small pile of bones laying in the pit where left them that morning, her attempts to call upon a new spirit done in vain. "We could finally end this fighting. We could go back to the way things were." He turns back to her, a wild look in his eyes. "We could destroy—"
The bones at her throat begin to rattle violently, the clinking of bones drawing her father's attention quickly. His gaze snaps around to meet hers, body stilling in the center of the room. At her back, Jellal and Gray exchange a glance, shifting on nervous feet as Lucy throws her head back in a manic laugh. Her shoulders shake with her cackling, a bitter smile pulling at her lips.
"You would sacrifice your own men," she says, laughing, though there's no humor lighting her eyes, only a dark shadow clouding the gold in her gaze. "And for what?" she snaps. She can feel the pull of her spirits on her mind, a phantom voice whispering in her ears, though she can't make out the words.
The question hangs heavy between them, weighing heavily on the occupants of the room. A silence cuts through the room, sharp, as if the quiet could make them bleed, could make them bent and break. It isn't the comforting silence of the forest at dusk, only a bitter lapse. Jude stares down at her like she's spit poison, and in some way Lucy thinks she has.
"For freedom," he tells her. His fingers curl into fists, her father looking nothing less than regal in the dark fabric swathed around him, layers falling around his frame, draping over his arms. He holds his head high, looking down at her, daring her to argue.
"For nothing," she corrects, an icy edge to the words. The words drip from her tongue harshly, the hollowness of them sour on her tongue. A pit forms in her stomach as she says it, but she can't help feel that she's right. "It would all be for nothing."
Her father doesn't respond, merely glowers at her, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire, the flames the only light in the small room. It casts shadows along the walls, across her father's face. His expression is harsher than usual, more severe, and Lucy shakes her head, turning her back on him. "I've told you before," she reminds him, "the dead do not like to be controlled." She pauses at the threshold of the room, fingers barely grazing the fabric covering the entrance. "Or toyed with."
"The spirits are meant to protect our clan," he says in return. The heat of his gaze on her back makes Lucy flinch, her hand dropping back to her side, away from the fabric keeping her inside. Her father takes a step towards her, his footsteps thunderous in the small space.
A sharp popping sound splits through the air, a sharp crack making her wince. Her nails dig into her palms so tightly it splits her skin, small beads of blood dripping down between her fingers. To her left, Gray inhales sharply, stunned by what's happened, and Jellal reaches for his weapon, an enraged curse falling from his lips.
When Lucy turns around the bones she laid out that morning are splintered beneath his boot, small, thin white bones cracked into near dust. Her throat constricts at the sight, something inside of her breaking along with the bones. "Yes," she agrees with him, swallowing down her anger, "protect. Not allow us to slaughter ourselves."
His expression turns shrewd. "Do you believe our survival is nothing?" It comes out mocking, biting, but she ignores the prickling at the back of her head, the swell of anger burning in her chest.
"I believe it would be for nothing if we were all dead," she tells him. Fighting has accomplished nothing for them. And more than that, she knows her father doesn't care the fight either, not anymore, not since her mother died. All he wants now is to destroy, no matter the cost to himself or anyone else.
She eyes him critically, wishing he would understand, but she can see the rage boiling in his eyes, a deep frown pulling at his lips. "We won once before," he says, not for the first time, reminding her of the last true battle between the clans, the one where she fought Natsu. When she lost Aquarius.
"What have we won?" she asks, laughing bitterly. "All we do is continue to lose."
Lucy rips back the fabric covering the door, hearing Jellal and Gray shuffling behind her, only a few paces away from her. Lucy's jaw clicks shut, her hair falling into her eyes as she steps out into the midday light, the sun harsh and the wind growing colder with each passing day, the chill soon to be too much for her bare skin.
Jude follows her from the room, cutting off Jellal and Gray when they try to follow her. He stalks up behind her, footsteps loud against the soft earth. The wind whips by, ruffling her hair and making the bones on her necklace rattle. Her father grabs her by the arm before she can make it far, Lucy barely managing a gasp before he jerks her around, forcing her to face him.
Lucy recoils quickly, practically hissing at him. His grip only tightens on her, his gaze stormy, and Lucy matches his look with one of pure venom. The bones at her throat rattle again, a warning to her father, but he doesn't listen, only continues to squeeze until Lucy's sure she'll have bruises come morning. Her father opens his mouth to speak, just as Gray and Jellal shove their way out of her home, expressions murderous.
"Jude," a voice laced with fake cheer calls out to them, "I think that's quite enough." Lucy's head snaps up, her eyes meeting a gold pair much like her own, a tall woman standing mere feet away from them, her back straight, shoulders pulled back, stare demanding. A tense smile crosses her face, her lips pulled back over her teeth in a way that's near wolfish. Her golden hair is tied back in dozens of braids, a pair of bones carved into knives threaded and twisted through her hair.
"Aunt Anna," Lucy breathes, a slow smile crossing her face. She relaxes at the sight of her aunt, the head of the Spiritwalker Clan, a sudden joy bursting in her chest. It's been weeks since she last saw Anna, the woman traveling north, back to their old home to complete a ritual.
Four times a year, during the Solstice and the Equinox, a Spiritwalker from their clan returns to the lake in the mountains to summon the bones of the Ankara, a great beast passed down to them for generations. Lucy knows little of the summons, Anna taking on the responsibility from Lucy's mother when Layla died.
Jude stiffens, straightening to his full height at the sight of her. "Anna," he greets cordially, a tight smile pulling at his lips. His hands clench into angry fists at his sides, Lucy glancing at him warily as he turns to face Anna more directly, appearing pleasant save for the frostiness of his gaze. "Since when have you been back?" It comes out more biting than it should, almost accusing.
An animalistic grin spreads across Anna's lips and she bristles at Jude's tone, the decorative bones lining her throat and curled through her hair beginning to rattle and shake almost threateningly. "Long enough," she says simply, taking a slow step forward, moving almost lazily, though Lucy knows better than that.
Anna is nothing if not cunning. She was always a skilled summoner in her own right, their entire family line has strong magic running in their veins, though more than that Anna is a skilled fighter. She's more vicious than Lucy's mother ever was, Anna respected in their clan for her prowess with weapons as well as her fists. As easygoing as Anna appears, Lucy knows it doesn't take much for the woman to snap, especially in regards to Jude.
Lucy glances back at her father, the man still staring at Anna, his fingers curling and twitching as if he isn't sure what to do with his hands. He shifts his stance, eyes seeming to dare Anna to speak, and she only grins wider, taking another step towards him, calling his bluff.
"I think, it's about time you leave," she says coolly, gaze sweeping around the group, "don't you, Jude?" A warning lines her words, and with a flick of her wrist Anna summons one of her spirits, a large beast appearing beside her in a flicker of light.
The creature is almost catlike, wide, intelligent eyes and a feline face, a slim body with a writhing tail, but the similarities end there. Its ears are feathered, wings protruding from its shoulders, golden tips brushing against the ground as it bares its teeth at Jude, eyes narrowing into thin slits. A thick, webbed spine arcs along the creatures back, seeming to flex in time with the creatures breath. The dust colored beast glances at Lucy, golden eyes locking with hers.
Gray and Jellal both shift awkwardly, both rooted in place near her doorway. They eye the beast warily, Gray's fingers twitching towards a knife at his belt, though Jellal only stares, appearing calm save for the tension in his shoulders. Lucy only stares back at the beast, unsure what to make of the large creature. She always knew Anna was a powerful summoner, but it always surprises her what the woman pulls from the bones decorating her body, old beasts that Lucy could only imagine being contracted to.
Jude stares at Anna's beast, his jaw clenching so tightly Lucy can hear his teeth grinding together, harsh and low and threatening to break into pieces. He doesn't say a word, only holds the woman's gaze, a quiet challenge, though a weak one. He would be a fool to fight with Anna, and he knows it just as well as Lucy does. He could never hope to win, not with as many beasts as she can summon at a time. The most Lucy ever saw her with was twelve at once, though Anna slept for just as many days afterwards.
"Don't make me ask a second time," Anna warns him, crossing her arms with a sigh. The bone bracelets clink together around her wrists, her long skirt dragging across the dirt as she stares at Jude with a near bored look, unamused. As she takes another step towards them, Lucy becomes aware of the bags under her eyes, Anna more exhausted than Lucy remembers her being. She's always tired after returning home from the North, but rarely does she have such dark shadows under her eyes.
The beast behind her snarls, low and threatening, and Jude takes a step away from Lucy, though not far enough. He rips his gaze away from Anna to stare down at Lucy, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "We will discuss this later," he tells her lowly, practically hissing at her through clenched teeth. He doesn't reach for her again, though his fingers twitch like he wants to.
Anna comes closer, her beast at her heels, and Lucy wets her lips. "So it would seem," she says, clipped. Jude's eyes narrow for a moment, and Lucy grits her teeth, glaring right back at him. He looks about to argue with her, but Anna's beast steps up beside her, a golden wing coming up to curve partway around her back, and her father loses any of the bravado he had earlier.
He glances at the spirit, then at Anna, and then he gives a sharp nod and turns on his heel without another word, stalking off and disappearing around a corner before Lucy can say anything.
Snorting, Anna steps up beside Lucy, watching Jude go with a distinctly lazy expression, though there's something in the purse of her lips that makes Lucy pause, staring up at her aunt for a moment too long. Feeling Lucy's gaze, Anna turns to her with a crooked grin, the laughter lines around her eyes crinkling. She reaches out to ruffle the fur of her spirit, a good natured smile on her face
"Come with me, Little One," she whispers, almost teasing, and holds out her hand for Lucy to take, a hint of mischief in her gaze.
Lucy hesitates, glancing at Jellal and Gray, still standing off to the side. Gray relaxes when he catches her eye, sending her a half-smile and a nod. Jellal watches Anna for a moment too long before sending Lucy a sharp nod. He doesn't smile or relax at the sight of her aunt or the spirit at her side, but there's no heat to his gaze any longer. After a moment, he turns away, waving at her over his shoulder briefly. Gray follows behind him, rolling his eyes and calling out a goodbye as he goes.
She turns back to Anna as they leave her sight, knowing she's safe with her aunt and the dozens of spirits at her fingertips. There's no better person Lucy could be with, no one she trusts more than the woman who taught her most of what she knows. After her mother died, Anna did everything she could to make Lucy into the best summoner she could possibly be.
Grinning, Lucy takes Anna's hand.
"How are your spirits?" Anna asks her as they settle atop the bluffs overlooking their home. It's the first thing Anna has said in some time, their talk mostly idle chatter as they wandered through the trees and over the jagged Cliffside. The Edge has always been the place they would go when Anna came home after her weeks away. It's the one place they can talk where no one can listen. A place for safe secrets.
Lucy's eyes flutter shut as the wind whirls around her, howling as it races through the peaks. "Good," she says simply. "I bonded with a new one."
Anna places her hands on her hips, leaning into the wind. She tilts her head back, grinning at Lucy, a familiar warmth in her eyes. "That's excellent!" A lick of cold air curls around them, near freezing, but Anna only smiles wider. "You always were one of the best summoners," she praises gently, expression fond. "Just like your mother."
"I've heard that a lot," Lucy says softly, her words nearly ripped away with the wind.
Lucy settles at the edge of the bluffs, letting her legs dangle over the cliffs. The cool rock beneath her bites at her skin, but Lucy only closes her eyes, shoulders losing their tension as she releases a heavy breath.
"It's true," Anna tells her, taking a seat beside her. Lucy cracks open an eye, peering at Anna through her hair. The older woman smiles softly down at Lucy, brushing back her wild hair. "You are just like her at that age. She always had a fire in her heart." There's something wistful in Anna's voice, almost sad, and she looks away from Lucy, her eyes tired.
Lucy grins slightly. "I thought that was you," she jokes.
"It couldn't be both?"
The quip drags a smile from Lucy, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. The trees around them rustle, wind howling, and she's suddenly reminded of the scream of the beast in the woods. She hasn't told anyone about them, not yet. It would only cause a panic throughout the clan, and she wouldn't know how to stop it. But Anna will.
Taking a deep breath, Lucy squeezes her eyes shut, aware of Anna watching her. "I saw a walker in the woods," she whispers, barely loud enough for Anna to hear. By the way she stiffens, Lucy knows she has, though she doesn't say anything in return. "It was a few days ago, near the border."
Anna's fingers curl into tight fists and the bones around her neck rattle slightly, their magic seeping through at Anna's distress. She sucks in an angry hiss through her teeth, body going rigid as she gazes down at the village below. Anna suddenly snaps her gaze up to meet Lucy's. "Did you see anything else?" she asks, almost casually, and Lucy frowns.
For a moment, Natsu comes to mind. He shouldn't have been on their side of the border, let alone that close to begin with. Most don't dare to come that far into the woods. If they keep coming closer, it could mean trouble for all of them. It could mean a war if her father catches them, if Anna catches them.
A Bixanna AU commissioned by @smartcookie727! Sorry this took me so long! And also, what are endings???? This was way more difficult to end than I thought it would be lmao
I really hope you enjoy it though!
Title: Through Rose-Colored Lenses
Pairing: Bixanna
Words: ~4K+
Summary: Soulmates are a tricky thing, especially when you see the world through their eyes. More specifically, the color of their eyes. Bixlow really hates the color blue. Or does he?
Lisanna Strauss has always believed in soulmates. She loves the idea of being destined to find someone, even if she’s never meant to love them. She loves the idea of forever, of being bound to someone, even though they both have the option to walk away. She loves the idea of being loved by someone despite her flaws, even though she knows the prospect of finding them may be harder than anything else she’s ever had to do. Soulmates aren’t found easily, practically ghosts, wanderers, and Lisanna can only pray she finds her match someday, even if it takes years. She seems to be the only one that hasn’t found hers yet, and that’s more disappointing than she’d care to admit.
She’s been told she’s living life looking through rose-colored lenses, but people don’t know how true that is. Her life is a mix of reds and pinks as she looks through the eyes of her soulmate, the tint of color the only thing she’s been able to see for as long as she can remember.
No one knows why or how it happened, but years ago people starting seeing less and less color, all others disappearing until their soulmate is found. They called it a phenomenon once, a curiosity, but it’s more of a curse than anything else. Seeing only a handful of colors is a pain, making life difficult for those who haven’t found their matches and sometimes even dangerous. She’s heard stories of people walking into traffic, unable to tell what color the lights were.
For Lisanna it’s more annoying than anything else. As a baker and cake decorator, it’s always been a pain in her ass to have to ask one of her coworkers at the Bakery what color frosting she’s using, or if it’s the right kind of sprinkles. She’s gotten into trouble with customers before because they specifically wanted orange frosting and she used yellow frosting. She’s gotten better at recognizing tints, but it’s always a gamble.
Lisanna doesn’t have the faintest idea who her soulmate might be, only knowing that she sees things in red and they must see things in blue, her own eye color. In a way, she hates it, the not knowing and the muted tones surrounding her. She wants to see things how they truly are, all the colors and shades, not just red. And she wants to be angry about the entire situation and how unfair it all is, but she knows things could be worse.
She could not have a soulmate at all, like her friend Cana. The girl sees nothing but shades of gray, and for the longest time she hoped it was simply her matches eye-color, but then it came out that people seeing in black and white never had a soulmate at all, and were never destined to find anyone. Lisanna never once saw Cana cry before the day she learned she was never meant for anyone, and she’ll never be able to forget the way Cana looked at herself in the mirror like a part of her was broken.
Cana has a girlfriend now, but even after all this time Lisanna knows she’s still bitter on the bad days, though there seems to be less and less of them with every passing month.
She could also be stuck with an unattractive color. Her oldest friend, Natsu, can only see in shades of brown, something he’s always lamented, the world dark and, though beautiful at times, always muted. He admitted to her once that in just the right lighting everything would turn gold, and that’s what’s always kept him searching for his match. He figures that her eyes must turn that same shade, and Natsu thinks he could get lost in it.
Things could be worse, she reasons with herself. Sure, she’s beginning to hate the color pink, which is a shame because it was always her favorite. Not that she had a lot of options to choose from, considering it’s all she’s ever been able to see. Rose-colored lenses indeed. Lisanna may be a romantic and find the idea of destiny more passionate than anything else, but she’s also finding it to be very inconvenient.
She can’t dress herself without looking like a fashion disaster, thus constantly needing help from her older sister, insanely lucky that Mira met her soulmate in early high school during a game of dodge ball. She threw the ball at Laxus so hard it broke his nose, and they’ve been at each others throats ever since. They aren’t dating, but they certainly bring out the best in each other. Laxus has calmed down considerably since they first met, less of an asshole than he was as a teenager, and he keeps Mira from floating off into outer space or walking into traffic.
Lisanna wonders if that’s how she’ll be with her own soulmate, if they’ll simply be friends, or if they’ll become lovers like her brother Elfman and his new fiancée Evergreen. They had a bit of a rocky start, with Elfman accidentally insulting Ever and Ever overreacting just the slightest. They danced around their feelings for years in high school and even college, their relationship nothing short of antagonistic.
It came as a shock to everyone when Elfman asked her to marry him just a week ago, completely out of the blue, and even more of a shock when Evergreen actually said yes.
And that’s how Lisanna finds herself struggling into a cute, blue dress that Mira says brings out her eyes. One week ago, she was definitely not expecting to go to an engagement party for her only brother, and now Lisanna’s even more desperate to find her soulmate. It’s not because she feels left out, or anything petty like that, it’s just that she wants to see her brother’s wedding in all it’s colors, experiencing everything there is to see.
Mira pokes her head into the room, grinning widely and practically vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t say anything, smiling too big to speak, though her gaze implores Lisanna to hurry up, promising pain should she take too long. Lisanna smiles back at her sister, smoothing down her dress one final time and practically skipping towards the door, scooping up her clutch as she goes.
She follows Mira down the steps, taking a deep breath as she glances at the clock, eyes widening when she realizes the dinner is in only an hour. Nerves prick at her skin, Lisanna’s stomach twisting, and she sighs, wishing not for the first time that she could actually see her brother and his fiancée in true color for once.
Her fingers twist through the fabric of her dress, Lisanna sighing as she realizes she might never know its true color, but she slaps on a smile when Mirajane turns around, Laxus waiting for them by the front door, nose wrinkling as he glances at his watch, but he smiles just the slightest when he sees Mira, softening slightly.
Lisanna giggles as Mira skips up to her friend and platonic soulmate, shoving their present for Elfman and Evergreen into his arms without so much as a word before slipping passed him. Laxus blanches, shooting her a nasty look, but it slips into something slightly more fond as he follows her with his eyes.
Lisanna snorts, steeling herself as she follows her sister towards the car, deciding that this is going to be a good night. She’s not going to let anything make this sour for her.
His tie is crooked.
Bixlow wrinkles his nose as he squints at it, trying to figure out where he needs to shift it to make it look right. The knot is sloppy, too loose and the tail end of it is too long. He lifts his hand to his tie, feeling the soft, blue fabric beneath his fingers, his frown only deepening as he smooths it down. Evergreen told him the color matches his hair, the dark blue his favorite color.
Rather, it’s the only fucking shade of blue he can still tolerate at this point. He’s almost positive that he’s going to shave his head and burn half his wardrobe once this soulmate bullshit is finished. He has no love for this color anymore. The blue shades have plagued him for almost fifteen years and it’s very unfortunate that he’s going to have to destroy everything that reminds him of the color one day. It’s all rather depressing, but that’s just how the world works.
He can’t count how many times he’s wanted to punch Laxus for cracking jokes at his expense, though, he can’t really fault the man. Laxus was in his exact position just a few years back, his life nothing but a sea of fucking blue until he met Mira. Bixlow guesses he’d have to make jokes too just to keep himself from going mad.
Everything was fine until he turned ten, the designated age the universe has decided to tell them all “fuck you! you only get color if you spend half your damn life searching for the supposed love of your life!” Yeah, the universe can get fucked. Bixlow’s parents never met their soulmates and they’re perfectly fine! Well, fine might be stretching it, but they haven’t killed each other, so he considers that to be a win.
Rolling his eyes, Bixlow moves to fix his hair, straightening his Mohawk just a bit and deciding he really doesn’t care about the tie. Ever threw it at him twenty minutes ago and told to wear it “or else” and since Bixlow doesn’t feel like dying tonight, he did what she told him to. He loves Ever, he really does, she’s like a sister, but she can be the devil when she wants to be.
Regardless, he’ll wear the stupid tie, but he’s not going to be happy about it. A bowtie he could do, especially if it was a clip on, but he has no patience for the death trap around his throat at the moment. He’s pretty sure Ever only wanted him to wear it so she could choke him out when he inevitably gets piss ass drunk and starts talking about her embarrassing secrets to all o the party guests.
He hopes Elfman can handle it, but then again, he also really doesn’t care. He’s never actually met the guy, which is bullshit because everyone else has. Laxus is buddy-buddy with Mira and gets to go to family night, and Ever was practically living there for a while. During the year Laxus and Freed were dating, he got to go over for dinner. But not Bixlow! Nope! He just gets to sit at home on Fridays and eat cold Mongolian take-out by himself.
If he sounds bitter about never being invited over, that’s because he is.
Hell, Evergreen just kind of sprung the marriage thing on him this morning. He literally found out less than twelve hours ago. At this rate, he’ll probably learn she was pregnant when she’s already in the delivery room. He better be getting a godchild named after him because considering how much he puts up with, he fucking deserves it.
He hates being the fifth wheel, or however many wheels there are at this point. He really can’t keep track anymore, between the soul matches and the non-matched dating pairs. It’s all rather confusing, and he also just doesn’t give a shit. All he knows is that he’s alone and everyone else is off being happy with their match while he’s fighting to keep Laxus’ cousin’s dog from eating all of his cold pizza.
And really, it was kind of a dick move for Lucy to just drop off her dog at seven in the morning on a Saturday. Granted, he did promise to watch the dog for her while she was doing… whatever it was she said she would be doing, but Saturday’s are for nursing hangovers, not dog sitting.
Add to that, Ever springing an engagement party on him while he’s still trying to dog sit, and it’s just been an absolutely shitty Saturday. Lucy is probably going to kill him for shirking his doggy daycare duties, but he couldn’t exactly bring Plue as his plus one.
Bixlow’s beginning to learn that he leads a very lonely existence.
Sighing, he runs a hand down the side of his face, head shaking slightly. He almost wishes he could just skip the dinner, but Ever is like his sister and he’s not going to make her upset tonight. Mostly because he cares about her, but also because she might beat him up for it, and he’d like to live to see tomorrow, thank you very much.
Besides, it won’t be all bad. Free food, good music, pretty guys and girls to flirt with. He could think of worse Saturday nights, if he’s being honest. Besides, not going would require him to sneak out and he’s pretty sure that if he leaves this bathroom Evergreen is going to spot him in an instant and then he’ll have to help set up decorations and Bixlow doesn’t feel like falling on his ass and dying.
There’s only twenty minutes until dinner starts, he’ll be fine. Probably. It’s a very strong maybe.
Groaning to himself, Bixlow again goes back to fiddling with his tie, wishing it wasn’t so blue. Gods, he thinks he’s going to hate his soulmate’s eyes, which is a real shame, considering he’ll probably have to look at them for a good long time, unless he never meets them. Though, he figures they don’t have it much better than he does. A life seen through red eyes would probably get pretty irritating. At least, that’s what Evergreen told him once.
Dear lord, his soulmate might actually just kill him when they meet.
Bixlow blinks rapidly, shaking himself, and takes a deep breath, silently begging for mercy from the gods as he decides he’s been hiding in the bathroom for too long already. The worst that can happen tonight is that he dies, but the chances of that happening are very slim, unless he happens to anger Evergreen. The chances of that happening are significantly higher, but he’s choosing not to think about that at the moment.
Everything will be fine.
It sounds like a lie, he thinks as he pushes away the mirror, giving up on his tie and hair and simply deciding that he’s done the best he can today. He’ll just have to keep his mouth shut and hope for the best. Nodding to himself one more time, Bixlow shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and ambles towards the door, shoving it open wide and strolling right into the rented venue, wondering not for the first time how he ended up roped into helping.
Probably because he had nothing better to do. Other than dog sit, of course, but he really couldn’t say no to Evergreen when she was already pulling him out the door, Bixlow practically catatonic after she mentioned her engagement.
Evergreen catches sight of him first, her smile tight as she looks at him, looking pretty in her dress that probably isn’t blue, but considering that’s the only fucking color Bixlow can see at the moment, that’s what he’s going to assume it is. Hell, his tie could be bright orange for all he knows. He could be walking around looking like an idiot and he’d be none the wiser. Though, he knows that isn’t true. Bixlow can tell real blue things from things that only look that color.
He really hates the color blue.
Somehow, Lisanna ends up standing alone towards the back of the room, a glass of red wine in one hand, her fingers curled delicately around the thin stem. The liquid is rich, dark, and the only true color in the room she can see, everything else still tinted with a faint pink hue. The occupants of the room blur together, people chatting animatedly, hands whipping around them, heads thrown back in laughter. From across the room, she can hear Elfman’s deep, booming voice, his words lost on her as he chats with one of Evergreen’s friends, a tall, thin man with long hair. He seems less than interested in what Elfman is saying, but doesn’t stop her brother’s long tirade.
Lisanna sighs, blowing her bangs away from her face and leaning back against the wall. She swirls her drink slowly, making a face at the red liquid and wishing she could see something else for a change. She can’t say that she particularly dislikes the color, given she has nothing else to compare it to, but it becomes taxing after awhile. Grimacing, Lisanna takes a sip of wine, nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing at the taste. She never has liked wine much, the taste a bit much for her, but she doesn’t mind the bitterness tonight.
She meant to have fun tonight. Honestly, she did, but after hours and hours of watching people dance with their soulmates and tell stories of how they met, Lisanna is about ready to just go home and drink the bottle of rum Mira keeps hidden in the cupboard. Though, she thinks she’s probably had enough to drink by now. It’s not enough to make her drunk, but it is enough for her to go from bubbly to bitter in the span of only a few seconds, which is only slightly concerning.
So far, the engagement party hasn’t been anything spectacular, just a lot of drinking and mingling, which isn’t much different from her usual Saturday nights, though she’s not likely to lose her clothes this time, or be roped into a game of bear pong. The night is still young, though, so who knows what might happen.
Her free hand curls around her bicep, fingers drumming against her skin as she casts another look around the room, looking for something even mildly interesting. For a moment, she thinks she sees Natsu across the room, but before Lisanna can push away from the wall for a better look he’s swallowed by the crowed. Lisanna doesn’t miss the grin on his face, his head tilted down as he speaks excitedly to an unfamiliar girl standing beside him, her smile almost as wide as his.
She catches her lip between her teeth, worrying it, and begins to tap her fingers against her arm faster, humming under her breath. She never thought engagement parties would be so… dull? She supposes that’s not quite the right word for it, but she was expecting something a bit more wild. Though, it’s only eight, so there should be time for that later. It’s not really a Strauss party without broken chairs and at least one fight.
“Hi,” someone speaks up from her left, startling her. Lisanna nearly drops her wine glass, but manages to catch it before it can shatter into a billion tiny pieces on the floor. “I’m Mister Right, someone said you were looking for me.”
Bixlow is busy scanning the room for anyone that looks interesting enough to talk to when he spots the bane of his existence. Originally, he was planning to mingle with the important people for an hour or so, find some cute people to flirt with, and, hopefully, duck out of the room with said cute person to make out in the bathroom or something. Unfortunately, the room seems utterly void of cute people. At least of the single variety. Bixlow isn’t really into cheating. He doesn’t get the thrill.
Anyway, he’s about three glasses of rum and coke into the night when he catches sight of Loke fucking Celeste from across the room. He doesn’t understand why Loke’s even here, considering he isn’t friends with Evergreen in the slightest, and he doubts the man is anything short of hostile with Elfman, given Elfman’s overbearing personality and Loke’s inability to not make a sexual pass at anything that moves.
And it’s not that Bixlow hates Loke, but yeah he kind of hates Loke. The guy is a sleaze ball. And he’s definitely not just saying that because Loke cheated him out of five hundred dollars during their last poker match. No, that’s definitely not the reason. Well, it may be part of the reason, but really, Bixlow just can’t stand Loke’s fake charming personality and his shitty pick-up lines that should never work, but somehow do because Loke has the face of a God chiseled from marble.
Bixlow would probably make-out with him if he didn’t hate him so much.
Loke is too busy making eyes at someone to notice Bixlow glowering at him, but that doesn’t stop Bixlow from mentally calling the other man names. He would pick a fight if it weren’t for the occasion. He really should pick a fight at an engagement party, but it’s bound to happen at some point. It’s, evidentially, not a Strauss party unless someone has a chair smashed over their head, or so he’s been told.
He follows Loke’s line of sight to a pretty girl standing on the fringe of the crowd, looking lonely with her glass of wine and her blue dress. And it’s blue blue, not tinged blue like everything else in the room, which is a curiosity in itself. For some reason, it gains his attention, though he thinks it should be a turnoff, really. He’s so sick of blue at this point, but it looks nice on her. It’s a good color, not too dark but not icy either.
Bixlow takes a deep breath, making a split second decision that’s mostly based on spite and the amount of alcohol he’s had, but also because she’s cute, and takes a step towards the girl. Then another, and another, until he’s right next to her, slightly smug because eat a dick, Loke, but then he realizes he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to say.
He’s usually better at this whole flirting thing, but that’s usually only when the other person is making eyes back at him. For all he knows, this girl might want to be left the hell alone.
Opening his mouth, Bixlow decides to say the stupidest thing he can think of in that moment, channeling his inner Loke charm.
Lisanna’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as they lock with a pair of red eyes that are both strange and also entirely familiar to her. For a moment, everything around her goes white, and then red, and then suddenly she’s staring at a stranger, a dull ache forming behind her eyes, annoying, but not painful. She sucks in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, and notices the man doing the same, like there’s dust in his eyes. The room seems to shrink and then grow large again, her world expanding as colors bleed into the room, the pink tint morphing into a thousand different colors that Lisanna can only vaguely remember from her childhood before she turned ten.
She can’t do anything but gape at him, overwhelmed, and also appalled by the shitty but scarily accurate pickup line he just said to her.
Bixlow, meanwhile, has no idea why she’s staring at him like that, all big, blue eyes full of wonder and something like confusion and terror swirling through her gaze. He, personally, thought that line could have been a lot worse. It wasn’t as cliché as the fall from heaven variety of lines, and it wasn’t as dirty as some of the others he could have used. It was harmless, if not stupid.
His vision blurs for a moment, but he attests that to the alcohol. He blinks to clear away the fuzzy dots in his vision, and when he opens them again, nothing has changed. She’s still all blue eyes and blue dress, and he shouldn’t like that on principle, but he’s finding that he doesn’t hate it on her.
The girl doesn’t say anything to him, only blinks like she can’t believe he’s standing there.
Lisanna considers pinching herself as her gaze slips from his to the sudden sea of color forming behind him, his broad shoulders partly blocking out her view of the party. Inevitably, her eyes slide back to his, entranced by the deep red of his eyes. It’s the only color she’s been able to see for years and somehow it’s one thing that keeps drawing her attention now, though she should be loath to look at it any longer.
He’s her soulmate. She blinks, unable to process it. This random guy is her soulmate, and she’s acting like she’s seeing the moon for the first time, utterly stunned and speechless.
Bixlow wets his lips, trying to figure out why she’s staring at him like that when they’ve only just met. He bites his lip, fingers running through his hair awkwardly as he forces himself to look away from her. His shirt sleeve slips down, revealing the tattoo on his wrist, and he goes very still when he sees it. The colors staring back at him aren’t the familiar blue, but an amazing assortment of color that he can only vaguely remember.
He can see in color again.
His gaze snaps back to hers, his eyes blown wide and his mouth dropping open in shock. He tries to speak, but his tongue sticks to his mouth and all he can do is sputter out something unintelligible.
“Bixlow,” he manages to blurt after an awkward moment. “I think you were looking for me.”
It surprises a laugh out of her. The girl raises her free hand to her mouth, hiding her red painted lips behind her hand. “Lisanna,” she tells him, a little impish. “And I was definitely looking for you.”
Three months, seventeen dates, and a Strauss wedding later, Bixlow decides that blue is definitely his favorite color.
Berserk. Out of control with anger. This is what Natsu was born to be. A warrior soaked in blood. A murderer. This is what Pergrande turned him into. Taken at a young age by the King, Natsu is a soldier of the Royal Army, a creature of rage and violence—a weapon. Lucy is a thief from Fiore with a price on her head and magic in her blood. {now on arc two/chapters being rewritten}
*Please note that this is a brand new chapter, not an old one that’s been edited! It’s pretty important to the plot!
Lucy feels out of place in this city, more so than she’d care to admit. Pergrande isn’t a place for her kind, she knows. It isn’t safe here. Not for her. Not for most people, truthfully, but most of them have nowhere else to go. Lucy herself wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t necessary, and she’s beginning to wish she hadn’t come at all, aware of the curious eyes following her as she walks the streets, slipping through the alleys purposefully.
She looks out of place in this city, she knows, though hopefully they wouldn’t guess her origins are Fioren. Fiore and Pergrande haven’t gotten on well in decades, not since the Pergrande Civil War. Things have been bad since the Centari line usurped the throne.
Lucy glances down at herself, tugging on her top absentmindedly. When she entered Pergrande the cultural differences had nearly made her turn back. The soldiers were in golden colored armor from head to toe; the women covered in long dresses, red and brown in color, flowing and nearly sheer in some places. While Lucy didn’t consider herself underdressed in her long tunic and brown sleeveless jacket, she knew very well that she wouldn’t blend in with the natives.
She was unfamiliar to them, and that made them watch her. Eyes have been on her for the last two weeks since she first entered Pergrande, the stares only growing worse the closer she came to the capital. It was unnerving, among other things. Every time a soldier stared she couldn’t help but think they were peeling back the layers of her skin, searching for the spark of magic in her blood.
Her fingers twitch at her sides, Lucy leaning back further against the wall behind her, rock scraping at her skin through her jacket. It’s uncomfortable, but she hardly notices, her mind elsewhere as she waits, the alley suffocating.
At least she had the sense to wear the colors of Pergrande, Lucy thinks, tugging at the long, red tunic she had adorned back in Fiore. She doesn’t remember where she bought it, just that she liked the delicate golden design on the front and the way it matched perfectly with a pair of long, striped socks she found the same day. Lucy never thought they would come in handy, but now she’s glad she bought them. She doesn’t stick out quite as much with the palette as she would wearing the blues common in Fiore.
Berserk. Out of control with anger. This is what Natsu was born to be. A warrior soaked in blood. A murderer. This is what Pergrande turned him into. Taken at a young age by the King, Natsu is a soldier of the Royal Army, a creature of rage and violence—a weapon. Lucy is a thief from Fiore with a price on her head and magic in her blood. {now on arc two}
His eyes follow Lucy as she flits around Makarov's shop, muttering to herself as she gathers cases of vials and other magicked objects and places them into a pair of baskets to bring into town. She shoves her hair back away from her face, strands falling out of the sloppy bun she tied it into earlier in the morning. She stops briefly to smile at him when he catches her eye, but says nothing, engrossed in her work. Her lips move, forming silent words as she goes through their stock, counting carefully.
A large cat Natsu hadn't noticed before sits between the baskets, blue eyes large and piercing, seeming to look right through him. It stares, silent and still save for the agitated twitching of its tail. It seems more curious than anything, though it hissed and swiped at him with one paw when Natsu first tried to pet it. Lucy laughed then, explaining that the cat, oddly named Happy, isn't fond of strangers, but that he would come around eventually.
Natsu is more confused than hurt by the animal's rejection. Besides the deer in the forest, not many animals have taken kindly to him, or any other Berserk, for that matter. Igneel used to say that the animals know what they were breed for, that they could smell the lingering of blood on their skin and the violence in their bones. Some animals seem to look passed it, after a time, but not all.
He can't fault them for that.
The cat watches him, gaze never leaving his, even when Lucy rubs him behind the ears and coos his name softly. A soft, happy trill leaves the animal, and he squints, pleased, though his gaze never once leaves Natsu.
There's something peculiar about the animal that Natsu can't place, something not quite right. The cat is large for one, reaching halfway up Lucy's thigh at his shoulders, much too tall for a normal housecat. His coat is near blue, almost silver in the moonlight, an unfamiliar shade. The eyes are what unnerve him the most. There's something entirely too human in his gaze, something youthful but also wise beyond years. Timeless. Ancient.
A ring of gold surrounds the blue in his eyes, and Natsu's mouth goes dry the longer the creature stares at him, looking right through him, peeling back the walls he's placed around himself.
"Happy!" Lucy chirps suddenly, potion bottles clacking together as she places them in the nearest basket. The cat snaps to attention, glancing at her with owlish eyes, another trill leaving the beast. His tail flicks again, friendly this time, and Lucy reaches out to pet him. Happy purrs at her touch, the low rumbles seeming to shake the room, a row of empty vials rattling together on Makarov's desk. One bottle threatens to fall, wobbling precariously, but Lucy catches it before it can slip to the ground and shatter.
The cat looks near smug at the glass in her hands, self-satisfaction flickering in his blue gaze.
For the 3 sentence fic ask: Loke and Cana, Cowboy AU
Loke stumbles as Cana shoves him backwards into the back room, her heeled boots clicking across the floor as she stalks over to him, hands on her hips and a suggestive smile spread across her lips.
“You know what they say,” she muses as she follows him into the room, eyeing him in a way that would make Loke blush if he was a lesser man. “Save a horse…” she trails off.
Berserk. Out of control with anger. This is what Natsu was born to be. A warrior soaked in blood. A murderer. This is what Pergrande turned him into. Taken at a young age by the King, Natsu is a soldier of the Royal Army, a creature of rage and violence—a weapon. Lucy is a thief from Fiore with a price on her head and magic in her blood. {now on arc two}
Lucy ducks out of the way of a strike that nearly takes her head clean off, Jellal not holding back as he swipes at her, a knife clutched in each fist. His deft fingers spin the blades, expression blank, save for the small smirk pulling at his lips. She stumbles backwards, nearly tripping, but he doesn’t relent, coming after her a second time. She parries, cursing under her breath, and heaves for air, legs unsteady beneath her. Her knee slips under the pressure, but she forces herself to remain standing, unwilling to give in so easily.
She hadn’t noticed before how shaky she still is, near four weeks have passed since she and Natsu left Narja, nearly two since Romeo’s birthday, but she’s still plagued with exhaustion. Her limbs feel heavier than usual, her thoughts scattered, and the constant headache that seemed to pulse with the poison in her arm has come back. It’s manageable, nothing but a dull ache, but it’s enough to leave her unfocused. She hadn’t realized how absentminded she’d become in the last few months, how unfocused she’s been since coming home.
Jellal takes the opportunity to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Lucy topples to the ground with a shriek, the breath knocked from her lungs as she’s slammed against the ground. Wheezing, Lucy rolls away from another strike, Jellal aiming for her stomach. His foot grazes her hip as she twists, shoving herself back to her feet and putting distance between them. Lucy wets her lips, expression daring him to come again.
He blinks at her, slow and calculating, something in his expression hesitant for only a moment, questioning. Lucy’s gaze doesn’t waver, her grip tightening around the hilt of her knife, the worn leather smooth against her palm. Her eyes narrow, lips pulling back over her teeth, and Jellal sighs, rolling his shoulder so that it cracks. It pulls a wince from him, and in his training shirt Lucy can already see the faint bruise forming on his shoulder from where she kicked him. She guesses it had to hurt more than he was letting on.
