scurwrites - Tumblr blog

scurwrites · 8 years

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cloudburst

--> Cursed by a witch in an effort to save his soul, Soul Evans resigns himself to the fate of being a feral, unadoptable, animal in the sleepy town of Death City—that is, until the green-eyed volunteer with a loving smile and compassionate laugh catches his attention. She may just prove to be the catharsis needed to help him learn his lesson in redemption before it's too late. words: ~33k pairings: soul/maka, implied background relationships. rating: T for language and suggestive sexual references artists: sojustifiable & SugarIntolerant art/media links: x, x direct fic link: x a/n: i absolutely love resbang so I definitely had lots of fun with this fic, even if i struggled with it at turns. that’s part of the fun, i say. my partners are also so goddamn talented and deserve all the praise! i’ve never had a song written for a fic before and, let me tell you, senpai justifiable became just that much cooler in my eyes! sugarintolerant’s art was also amazing and im still wondering how art is even made i can’t fathom how much time was put into the work! i am so happy to have gotten such great partners this year! i hope you all enjoy our contributions and i’ll see you again next year!

The days were cold, but Maka didn’t mind: she just pulled on her thick purple hoodie and then zippered herself into an even thicker coat before heading out. She had always been more sensitive to the cold, but at least she could handle a little cold on her hands unlike her father as she walked down the block. The leaves on the trees already beginning to flick off; soon the trees would be bare, their branches tangling above her, forming crowns as they frosted over with the coming winter.

Despite the overabundance of trees and deep dunes of snow during the winters, Maka enjoyed her neighborhood. It was much better than the one she had grown up in and anything was better than her father’s cramped quarters with the beer-stained carpet and dimly painted walls.

“Hi, Marie! Do you have any new additions today?” Maka hollered cheerfully, pushing back her fuzzy hood as she entered the little adoption shelter down the street from where she lived. It was a quaint building with wide windows that stretched to the ceilings, framed with cream curtains tied back with bronze tassels. The walls were a welcoming shade of light green and the tiled floor had cute, black paw prints that led to the animal kennels in the back. The counter was newly stocked with animal products and Maka could spot Marie on her tip toes, trying to reach the top of the shelves to fit in a new metal food tray with the others.

“Oh, good morning, Maka!” Marie greeted cheerfully, cupping her hand over her mouth to shout, “Stein! Stein, Maka is here! STEIN!”

Maka vaguely heard Stein’s mumbling in the back.

Marie was a beautiful woman with bright gold eyes and a smile to match. Her long hair was often curled at the tips, loose down her shoulders in a sunny shade of yellow. Her clothes reflected her happy personality as she always dressed in bright colors, but there was a little of her husband in her wardrobe as well. Specifically the black as when Stein appeared from behind the double doors, dressed in thick black pants and a plain gray t-shirt, his veterinary coat thrown over himself as if at the last second, the pair matched almost comically. Of course, to Marie’s cheerful grin was Stein’s grim frown. They seemed like polar opposites yet Maka had known Marie before she began dating Stein and had seen how close they had gotten over the years. They worked together like well-oiled gears despite Stein’s exasperation over his bubbly girlfriend.

Stein stumbled out of the back room, looking he hadn’t slept since yesterday. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t. “Good evening, Maka.”

“Stein, it’s ten in the morning,” Marie corrected wryly.

Stein blinked slowly, taking off his glasses to clean them with the edge of his shirt. He slipped them back on and hummed. “Ah. So it is.”

“Anyway!” Marie laughed, scooting over to hide the way Stein was squinting out the window as if he hadn’t seen daylight in years. “Are you here to see the puppies that were brought in yesterday? They’re adorable, Maka! You should take one! In fact, you should take the spotted white one, he’s so cute! You’ll love him, come in!”

“Puppies?” Maka perked up, eyes shining. “Are they the only ones you’ve taken in recently?”

“And two pitbull’s last week,” Stein said.

“I saw them—the beige and black one, right?” Maka asked as she walked beside him, both following after Marie. “Are they healthy? They looked a little thin when they came in.”

“They were underweight,” Stein nodded. “They also hadn’t had their shots nor did they have any other medical record on them. Not unusual,” he sighed, “but it would be helpful if they had.”

Maka smiled sympathetically. “Thanks to you two, they’re eating now and with Marie at the front, they’ll be adopted into loving homes in no time!”

“One good thing that comes from this job,” Stein drawled. Maka smiled lopsidedly. Marie was now trying to pry the pen door open, scowling when she couldn’t get a clasp undone. Stein took his sweet time helping. “Good luck. She’ll be begging you to take a puppy home—by the—end of this,” he pried the clasp open with a grunt and stepped aside so Marie could pull Maka in, pointing at the puppies with an exulted grin.

“They’re so cute! They’re younger than I thought they’d be, though…” Maka commented worriedly, holding out her hand to let one puppy sniff it. It yipped and a giant grin broke on Maka’s face. “Shouldn’t they be with their mama?”

“They were brought in a box that said ‘Free Puppies’ by a good Samaritan. They’d been put out in the street for a day or two and no one had picked one up,” Stein informed.

Marie bristled. “How could they just leave so many helpless puppies out on the street like that? That’s so heartless, if I ever found the person responsible…! I would break their nose in with my fist!” Marie puffed her cheeks, raising a hand to prove her point.

Stein didn’t bat an eye. “You’d break your wrist and then I’d have to heal you.”

“She’d be taken to a hospital,” Maka arched a brow at the doctor.

“I’m a doctor, I can heal a broken wrist.”

“An animal doctor!”

“But I am a doctor,” he defended.

Marie leaned slyly over at Maka, whispering in a loud stage-whisper: “He’s just sore about not being a human doctor because he stayed the night before his exam experimenting with something so he fell asleep halfway through,” she winked and Maka could feel Stein’s moody scowl from behind her. “Anyway! Look, this one is the one I was talking to you about…” Marie slipped her hand under the tender belly of a tiny spotted puppy—the runt of the litter, his eyes barely open. He trembled in her hand but did not make a sound, curling up when Marie cupped him to her chest. “See? Isn’t he just the cutest? I was thinking about keeping him myself—!”

“—no, Marie, we run a shelter to give away, not to keep—”

“—but Stein won’t let me!” Marie pouted, wiggling her finger at the puppy’s mouth. It suckled on it and she cooed. “Oh, please, Maka, take him so I can always visit him!”

“I’d love to, Marie, but,” Maka began, once more rejecting an offer from the kind animal-loving woman. “I just…well…I’m not much of a dog person.”

“Same,” Stein droned.

Marie turned her nose up at him.

“Everyone is a dog person deep, deep, deep inside!” Marie said this while looking at her boyfriend, who only pushed his glasses up his nose. “What do you like, then, Maka? You don’t like birds or other small animals…or cats. That one time we brought in a litter of kittens from the kill-shelter across town, you refused them, too, and they were very adorable,” Marie remembered. They sometimes dropped by kill-shelters when they had extra pens to spare to take in the animals who were set to be put down within a day or two. As far as Maka knew, however, the pair hadn’t been able to do that much since all their pens were full as of late.

“I would take him in, but I’m a full-time student and he’s practically a baby,” Maka reasoned with a sad smile. “I’d have to take care of him until he’s older and dogs are a little needy, right?”

“To be fair, all animals are,” Marie smiled warmly. “Dogs are quite loyal to their owners, though, and he would adjust to your schedule. I think it’d do you some good to have a little dog around to distract you from all that studying you do.”

“No,” Stein appeared behind Maka, placing his hands on her shoulders in a fatherly manner. “She will graduate and become an M.D. like she promised me she would. Do not make the same mistake I have, Maka,” he said, gravelly. Maka nearly snorted; he was so over-the-top sometimes. “As an M.D., you can study humans, not animals—!”

“UPUPUPU!” Marie slapped a hand over his mouth. “No talk about opening up people or animals in front of me!”

Stein pushed her hand off his mouth and gripped it in his own gently. “I forget you’re sensitive. Why are we dating again?” He smirked when she smacked his cheek gently and, at that point, Maka needed to extricate herself from the affectionate thirty-something year olds. Maka ignored the couple in front of her to look down at the puppy who was dozing off on her chest already.

The main reason she didn’t adopt from the shelter was because Marie always pushed baby animals at her. She insisted it was because they were easier to train, but Maka truly had no time to go mothering a puppy or a kitten. She disliked birds because she grew up with some parrots whose incessant squawking completely jaded her from all sorts of flying animals. Other animals like bunnies or hamsters were messy and she knew from a friend that letting loose a bunny in the house was asking for chewed wires and little pebbles of poop everywhere. The only animal she was relatively fine with were cats, her only real issue being their constant shedding.

She really didn’t want to buy a roller to remove the cat hair stuck on her clothes every day.

These reasons were what always found her coming out of the shelter empty-handed—just like today, as Maka pushed the door open and waved at the couple. Already some volunteers were beginning to arrive, greeting Maka with bright smiles as they started a new day of helping to care for homeless animals.

And once more Maka found herself holding a hand to her chest, unable to shake off that nagging feeling that told her she’d feel a lot better if she weren’t so alone all the time.

continue reading here!

#soul eater #soma #soul evans #maka albarn #resbang 2015 #hurt comfort fluff #fairy tale elements #this entire thing is probably the most self-indulgent thing ive ever written??#ok that might be a lie but its pretty much fluff and some hurt and more fluff and hilarity

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scurwrites · 9 years

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death speak

- -> Death speak can be a little disorientating at first. Academy students forget that civilian’s don’t know that.

soul/maka - PG13

a/n: so I stay up watching a lot of horror movies and reading a lot of occult rituals and I often find myself laughing at inappropriate things. I figure Maka feels me in this respect.

“Is my hair okay? I feel like my hair isn’t okay,” Kim worriedly patted the back of her mussed head, fingers tangling her pink locks even more. “Jackie!?”

“It just has a little mud in it,” Jackie assured softly, reaching over to untangle her meister’s fingers from her hair when she kept messing with it. Her eyes flashed back to Soul and Maka, particularly Maka, who was humming quietly to herself as she rummaged through her hiking pack. Her hair was loose and long down her shoulders, half of it cinched back with a pretty bow barrette that Soul Eater had given her right after his Death Scythe ceremony. Maka had worn it every day since.

The teenager they were guarding sat across from the pair, looking utterly terrified.

“Did I miss something?” Jackie murmured to Kim, who craned her head to glance at her in confusion before looking in the direction Jackie was looking in.

“Oh. That,” Kim frowned. “Not really? I have no idea what her deal is, but she’s been terrified of Maka pretty much since she introduced herself.”

“Hm, that’s weird, I don’t remember Maka doing anything out of the ordinary,” Jackie kept close to Kim while her meister went back to trying to pick out any stray debris on her person from their run through the forest behind the mansion. It had been their turn to try and scout out the kishin that was stalking the teenager they were guarding, but all they had gotten out of the search was mud everywhere and some scratches on their hands and knees from where they’d tripped down a slope and landed on some shrubs.

“Maybe Soul knows,” Kim suggested, sending her weapon a meaningful look.

Jackie sighed. “You just want to know. Nosy.”

“Duh, go ask,” Kim grinned at Jackie’s flat look. “Please? I’ll make it worth your while,” she drawled with a cocked up brow and Jackie felt her heart give a traitorous thud at the look, cursing herself for being so weak to her meister’s flirty looks. Kim just went back to her hair, humming innocently.

The instant Maka stood up and headed towards the bathroom, Jackie bolted from Kim’s side over to Soul Eater’s while the teenager recoiled into herself and tried to make herself seem as small as possible as Maka walked past.

“Okay, what’s her deal? What did Maka do?” Jackie hissed at Soul, who looked up from his phone, scowling even more heavily. “Soul?”

“I dunno’. Maka told me to leave it alone.”

“And you actually are?”

Soul just shrugged.

“C’mon, aren’t you at least a little curious?” Jackie persisted.

“Yeah, but Maka told me not to say anything and she has my external hard drive in her pack,” Soul whined, and Jackie barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maka had threatened him with damage to his precious data. Great. “Hey, ask her for me.”

“What?”

“Ask her,” Soul nodded covertly at the shaking teenager who was now breathing easier than she had since Maka arrived. “If you ask, Maka won’t hide my shit and I can watch a movie on the plane ride back home.”

Jackie sent him a dirty look he only grinned sharply at. “Ugh, fine, but I’m only doing it because I want to know, too, and so does Kim!”

“Sure, whatever, go before Maka gets back,” Soul urged, hanging back and pretending to browse something on his phone while Jackie switched over to the teenager’s side with a winning smile, earning herself a tentative one in return.

“Hi, I’m Jackie,” Jackie introduced herself again, placing her hands on her knees, placating. “I just wanted to know if you were okay. You look a little tense, and I know that having a kishin in the area can stress a person out.”

“Clarke,” the teenager introduced herself softly, her expression opening up a little more when Jackie commented on the living rooms décor. Taking a glance down the hallway where Maka disappeared to, Jackie decided this needed to be quick. Besides, this was completely appropriate question for a mission, right? If the person they were guarding was afraid of one of them, then if something happened, it could endanger the girl. Yeah. Perfectly sound reasoning.

“Hey, I was wondering if you were afraid of Maka?” Jackie asked before she could psych herself out, staring at the teenager who snapped her eyes up to her suddenly, wide and fearful.

“How are you all NOT afraid of her?! She’s a MENACE!” Clarke hissed. Soul Eater snapped his head up, confused and a little offended on his meister’s behalf. Even Kim stopped her fervent hair-brushing, raising a delicate brow at the teenager who was sweating cold. “She’s—she’s terrifying! She w-wields a huge scythe and earlier I heard her humming a death lullaby and she laughed when my dad said that the-the demon—”

“Kishin,” Kim corrected mildly.

Clarke didn’t seem to hear her.

“DEMON!” Clarke repeated, terrified. “That demon killed four people and M-Maka laughed and then went out with her huge scythe and cut down a tree that was in her way and she, just, she’s even more dangerous than whatever is out there how can you not be afraid of her?!”

Across from them, Soul Eater smirked haughtily.

Kim was back to trying to brush out the mud from her hair.

Jackie blinked. “She can be a little intimidating, but Maka is actually really nice? She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, actually, she was one of the people who said I should trust my meister and go after her when Kim—um, when Kim, left,” she said, haltingly, and Kim glanced over at her with a soft and guilty look, “before the hunt on witches was nulled by Lord Death.”

“Maka said she liked her food DEAD!” Clarke shouted.

“It’s a Death Child joke,” Soul explained breezily from across from them.

Clarke looked at him, bewildered. “A death child what?”

“A joke. It isn’t a big deal. Maka’s sense of humor is a little...warped,” Soul ignored the teenager’s flat look, “because she’s a Death Child. She was born and raised in Death City, so a lot of her jokes on death and dying and killing can come off as really morbid and dark but she doesn’t mean anything with it. She’d never hurt you without a reason so you don’t have to be scared of her. Maka’s the best at what she does. She’s one of the Academy’s top meister’s.”

Clarke gulped.

Soul didn’t look very bothered now, seemed done with the conversation now that he knew what had agitated Clarke.

“It can be a little weird, but Maka’s really nice! We’re not from Death City, we moved there when we enrolled at the Academy when we were all twelve,” Jackie chimed in with a small smile. “So we all had to learn Death City mannerisms and, after a while, it just seemed kinda’ silly. They’re really dumb jokes, okay? Maka is harmless.”

“Scythe,” Clarke reminded.

“I’m the scythe,” Soul pointed out.

“But you’re not scary,” Clarke said immediately. Soul twitched at that, glaring and baring a sharp tooth in a growl, but otherwise stayed silent. “Maka, though…okay, maybe she just scares me in general. She seems really…collected? It’s not normal how in control she is of everything. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing but, no, that’s not right, Maka just gives off a really disturbing vibe—like all of this is just part of her plan and everything that happens is because she knew it would happen. Because she planned it that way. She…there’s something dark about her,” Clarke hastily amended. “Like a…madness.”

Jackie startled at that. “What? Maka isn’t mad—!”

“I’m mad,” Soul stated sharply, and Kim looked at him in warning. But Soul’s eyes were dark and Jackie watched as he sat straighter, his sharp teeth grinding together in irritation when Clarke frowned skeptically at him. “I’m the one with the madness. Maka…she helps me regulate it. She’s the least mad of everyone I know. I think what you sensed in her was because of me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was her!” Clarke insisted, scowling now. “There’s no way you’re the one with the madness! You look creepy, but you’re not insane!”

“Actually, he is.”

Clarke paled four shades when Maka made her way back into the room, her voice soft but firm. She had her gloved hands clasped before her thoughtfully and Maka didn’t spare Clarke a glance as she made her way back to her weapon’s side, sitting closer than she had before. Jackie noticed, not without a little bit of amusement, as Maka took Soul’s knuckle-white, fisted, hand and worked his fingers loose gently, tangling their fingers together in comfort.

“You have a very sensitive soul perception, that’s all. I knew the instant I saw you that you did. While you can’t see souls because you haven’t trained like I have, you can sense a person’s aura very sharply. You sensed madness in mine and that scared you, but that’s because yesterday, Soul and I were practicing a new defensive technique and I’ve been trying to control my cleansing wavelength so some madness still hasn’t been fully cleansed from my soul. Soul’s blood is black,” Maka added suddenly, cutting into whatever Clarke was thinking instantly. “He channels his madness through me, and I purify it. But for this technique to work…”

“…She has to suppress her Anti-Demon Wavelength and let my madness fill her enough for the armor to work.”

“Armor?” Kim spoke up, staring at them. Her green eyes glinted with a twisted sort of pleasure that reminded everyone in the room of her heritage. “You mean, that blood armor everyone is whispering about isn’t actually a rumor? You can use the black blood like that?”

“Technically, yes. On the moon it happened, that’s how I was protected from the Kishin Asura’s attacks. And a couple of other times with other kishin it’s happened as well,” Maka explained, cocking her head. “But it only happens when we’re in life or death situations?”

“Ooh, so Soul’s blood protects you if your life is in danger. Romantic,” Jackie ribbed, smirking when Soul flushed red.

“Well, Soul’s life is in danger, too! That’s why it happens!” Maka defended, oblivious to Soul’s uncomfortable shifting. Jackie muffled a giggle when Soul tried to hide their held hands from sight and he shot her a dark look when he noticed. “So his blood protects him as well. It works both ways. It’s mostly passed over to me since I’m resonating with him. Right, Soul?”

“Riiight,” Soul coughed.

Maka nodded, satisfied, and Kim snorted. “Yesterday we were trying to activate the blood armor without that stress, but it wasn’t really working that well and all I got out of it were blood stains on my uniform and weird thoughts,” Maka pouted. “Soul’s too scared that we’ll lose control and kill someone. Like I can kill someone if all I’m doing is laughing. If I could, things would have been a lot easier when we were kids,” Maka chuckled, cheerful and pretty.

Clarke looked a little sick.

“Maka,” Soul sighed. “Quit it. This chick is already terrified of you, you can’t go making jokes like that anymore.”

“Eh, really?” Maka gasped, brows drawing in worriedly. “Did my jokes scare you? Was that it? Oh, no, I didn’t mean to do that, um, sorry, they’re supposed to be funny! Death is funny!” Maka flailed, panicking when Clarke only shook her head slowly.

“Oh my god,” Soul breathed under his breath, going back to his phone. “Keep creeping her out, sure, don’t come to me when she won’t talk to you anymore...”

“You laugh!” Maka accused, hotly.

“I’m used to it. And at first they were creepy as all hell, Maka, seriously, every time you forgot something you would say ‘I died’ and laugh! How is that not creepy?”

Maka puffed her cheeks in offense but sank down in her seat a little, mood shot. “…Papa does it all the time. So does Black Star. I didn’t think…I just, I thought that you liked them…”

“Er, I do! I mean, look, I got over it!” Soul amended hastily, squeezing her hand when Maka only looked even more morose. “It, uh, it isn’t creepy anymore and that last joke with the ax murderer was really cool. Totally hilarious. Black Star would be jealous.”

“It was? Really?” Maka perked up, hopefully. Just the way Soul’s eyes softened with relief was enough to make Jackie critically think that Soul was a total push over and Kilik was right when he said that Soul would kill a man if it meant keeping Maka happy. Clarke seemed to realize this, too, by the way she blanched when Soul brought their held hands to his lap so he could squeeze Maka’s hand better.

She looked a little like that, too, when Maka let her head rest comfortably against Soul’s metal shaft, the scythe blade curved dangerously close to her neck.

Civilians were weird, Jackie decided. It wasn’t like Maka’s death jokes were even disturbing. Jackie had heard far worse from Sid, their homeroom teacher, and given that he was clinically dead, he had more insight on the whole dead-thing than any of them did so his jokes were infinitely creepier. And even then no one bat an eye anymore. They just sort of sighed. Sid’s dead jokes were the equivalent of dad jokes.

“Ax murderer,” Clarke said, faintly.

“Uh, it had to do with breaking a door with his ax and killing the kids with the handle coz the ax head fell off. Its funny coz he technically killed them with a stick and not an ax—it isn’t important,” Soul waved off frantically when Clarke only paled even more. “It’s just, it was funny, okay, so quit looking like that!” Soul told Maka, hiding pink cheeks by sniffing coolly and glancing away and out the window. “You’re funny, just some people don’t have a cool sense of humor, okay?”

“Oh my god you’re so whipped,” Kim whispered and squeaked when she pulled on a knot in her hair too hard. “Fuck! Jackieeee, it’s stuck!”

“Just leave your hair alone for now, Kim, you won’t be able to untangle it until you shower,” Jackie sighed. She paused, then said: “It’s a good thing the dead can’t speak or else we’d be hearing wailing a mile away since you keep pulling like that.”

Maka burst out into high laughter, covering her mouth as she giggled and Jackie beamed. Soul closed his eyes tightly, praying for patience, and Kim cracked a crooked grin at the joke.

“Excuse me?” Clarke rasped, utterly confused and not a little disturbed.

“Y’know,” Maka laughed. “Because hair is dead!”

“Deader than my leather purse!” Kim snickered. “Thank god the dead can’t complain or else I’d never hear the end of it. Get it, end?”

Maka laughed harder and Jackie cracked up, covering her face as she gasped out, “That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard!” while Kim burst into another round of laughter.

Soul was groaning.

“This is why you all don’t have friends outside of Death City,” Soul complained when Clarke stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, their laughter chasing after her and convincing her that pretty much every Academy student was clinically insane and borderline sociopathic and she was never going to ask her dad to call a DWMA unit ever again.

They’ll just move away next time they had a kishin problem.

#soul eater #soma #kim diehl #jackie #my fic #death child speak #really bad death jokes #i need to stop watching all this horror stuff i #crack #is this a crack fic?#lets just say it is

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scurwrites · 9 years

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tablebang fic

- -> He blames the candles Stein gave him.

soul/maka - nsfw

a/n: So, I actually have not reread this or edited it or done anything to it since I downloaded it. I pretty much just copy and pasted it here because if I tried to reread it, I'd probably want to rewrite the entire thing and embarrass myself. This was written in 2010 oh my god. So here you go! The great search is officially over! Here's Soul and Maka banging because of a bunch of emotion-heightening candles courtesy of Professor Stein...

It all began when he lit those candles, following Stein's strange instruction to light them up when they had enough time to spare and when they were both in a peaceful mood.

The atmosphere had been calm, undisturbed, as he watched television and she indulged in her latest novel. The subtle scent that emanated from the candles soothed their stressed, caused an inexplicable amount of tranquility to blanket them.

Everything would have continued perfectly had the noise level from the television not spiked her irritation.

"Can you please turn the music off?" Maka asks, barely able to restrain her ire, her fingers digging into the hardcover of her book. The sudden switch from the news anchor's monotonous drone to the upbeat tracks of jazz didn't settle well with her.

"Why? It isn't hurting anyone," Soul fires back, rebelliously grabbing the remote the increasing the volume.

She takes a deep breath. Somehow this only makes her anger worse. "Soul. Turn it off."

"No."

"Soul Eater."

"Make me," he challenges.

Fury flashes in her eyes. "As your meister, I demand you turn it off now."

Soul clenches his teeth at the dirty tactic, fixing her with a burning stare for a second before finally turning off the television. But his blistering glower does not waver and neither does her own.

Their emotions are climbing wildly like flames, the candles that Soul lit up an hour ago barely melting. The scent has gone from pleasant to disturbing; a suffocating fog that wraps around them, choking them.

"There," Soul bit, tossing the control by his side. "Happy now?"

"Hardly," she sneers.

His eyes darken and he's striding to her before she can say anything else. He leans over her as she straightens in the chair, the edge of the dinning table jabbing at her side. His scarlet eyes are fierce, dark, and she can see the sharp razors he has for teeth as he hisses: "Then what would make you happy, Maka?"

Maka slams her book on the table. She's fed up with his high and mighty attitude; he has been hanging out with Black Star far too much for her tastes. She stands, screeching the chair away with her foot. "Maybe if you listened to me more often, things wouldn't get so screwed up all the time!"

She's talking about the recent mission they took – the one that nearly failed because Soul had made a split-second decision that basically saved her ankle from being sliced off clean. Although she had recovered from the shock of nearly losing her foot belatedly, the gratefulness disintegrated when the Kishin attacked her again and managed to blow her into the wall. It nearly cut her in half with its sharp pincers had it not been for her quick thinking to use the back of her scythe to push it back.

"I practically saved you from getting your leg chopped off!" He shouts, incredulously.

"But that decision nearly got me killed anyway!" Maka snaps.

"But you're not dead so what's the damn problem?"

"That if you keep pulling shit like this, it might actually kill me!" Maka roars. "You make decisions without consulting me and—!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble but I can't consult them with you if I only have half a second to do it!" He sneers. "My bad. Next time I'll just let your foot get cut off!"

"That's not my point," Maka says through clenched teeth.

"Then what is your point?"

"My point is you're making all of these decisions while we're fighting and they're putting me in danger! You can make all the decisions you want when you're fighting alone but it's different when we're working together!" Maka exclaims, frustratedly. "We're a team, Soul! You can't be trying to attack while I'm trying to dodge! It doesn't work that way!"

"Then what the hell do you want me to do? That's what I've been doing this entire time! Nothing has changed except your attitude towards it!" He angrily replies, his fury ratcheting up to levels he has never allowed them to go. "What the fuck do you want from me?" This feeling of losing control is familiar but he can't put his finger on when...

"Obedience!" Maka finally roars, getting in his face.

He does not back down like his gut tells him to. Instead, he leans in closer, a sneer on his lips. "You won't find another weapon as obedient as me, Maka." The conviction in his words would have otherwise shut her up but she can't stand the the idea of letting him win this argument; not today.

She scoffs snidely. "I wouldn't be complaining if you were half as obedient as I want you to be!"

"Then how much more obedient do you want me to be?" Soul growls. She stands her ground, holding his blistering glower. "Explain it to me, professor, because I don't seem to understand,” he mocks.

"When you obey me without question..." Maka dangerously says, eyes burning to look at. "Then I'll be happy."

He smirks, twistedly. "Control freak."

"Lazy asshole."

"Titless bookworm."

"Heartless bastard!"

"Possessive bitch!"

She sucks in a sharp breath, screaming: "Fuck you, Soul—!"

He crushes his mouth against her own, moving his mouth hard against hers. He shoves her against the table, presses her against it. He looms over her with dangerous intentions, forcing her still as she struggles, and is pleased when she groans in defeat and gives into his rough demand.

"Be careful what you say, Maka," Soul breathes against her lips. "It might just happen."

Instead of replying, she grabs him by the lapel's of his jacket and pins him against the table.

She shows no mercy, even though the back of his head hits the wood of the table, as she climbs on top of him.

"What—!"

"I thought you were going to be obedient," Maka hisses, thrusting him up so their lips are millimeters apart. There is still anger crackling in her eyes. "I'd start right now if I were you."

He smirks widely. "As you wish, my master." And their lips meet again, his teeth sinking into her lower lip. Her hands loosen on the strips of fabric of his jacket and he allows his hands to run down the curve of her back until they reach the pleats of her skirt. He tugs, impatiently, but the skirt barely budges on her hips.

"Move," he grunts, reversing their positions again. There's a sense of uncontainable excitement that thrums through his entire being; an anticipation and yearning that festers in his gut when he tears her uniform shirt off to expose her polka-dotted bra.

Maka barely contains a gasp when his mouth assaults her neck, his hand palming her breast roughly. His teeth are as sharp as she anticipated they would be, they send jolts of fire through her veins with every prick, and she strains herself not to moan when he manages to remove her bra and grip the naked mounds of flesh under his hands possessively.

"What is it you want me to do, Maka?" He asks, tracing his lips in mock-adoration down the curve of her jawline. "Tell me."

"I..." She can't speak; it's too much. His teeth sink into her neck again, suckle and bite on soft pale skin, and she's a bothered mess under him with that alone.

"Maka...?" He reminds her, transfixing her in his smoldering gaze. "Tell me, my master, I'll show you just how obedient I can be."

"Do... that again!" Maka gasps, and his hands squeeze her breasts experimentally. "Th-that..."

"This?" Fingers catch a perked nipple and she groans in approval. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something... like this?" His tongue runs up the valley of her breasts slowly, reaching her jaw before finally plunging into her mouth. Her mouth is hot, like the rest of his body, and the contact between him and his meister is almost too much to bear.

The sensations that strangle them both are almost too much to bear; let alone ignore.

They are being driven by raw instinct alone, thoughts smeared and distorted, and all that matters between them is the flesh on flesh contact, the whines that come from Maka, and his urge to make her scream until her vocals collapse.

That's all that matters: his obedience and her commands.

"More," Maka moans, her skirt bunched up around her waist. His jacket has long since been discarded on the floor, which is piling with their clothes, and her hands fumble with the buckle of his belt before it comes loose and she tries to pull his pants down.

He smirks, giving her nipple one last languid lick before regaining some control. He shoves the impatient hand away from his pants, chuckles darkly when she begins to protest, and merely pushes her up the table until her moist sex is right under his grinning mouth.

"Soul?" Maka rasps, startled when her legs are pushed apart. Her eyes hazily adjust to the ceiling, curiously question why there is something almost like smoke hovering around them like a veil, when she feels something wet and slick slide up her center.

The explosion of ecstasy that assaults her body is indescribable; is it always like this?

She hopes so.

Maka throws her head back in a silent scream while his hands grip her thighs to keep her in place. His tongue works his way around her moist core, impatient and hungry. He thinks it's ironic, how she is ready on the dinning table to be feasted upon by him, and this only widens his grin; broadens the need to claim her.

The possessiveness that clutches his heart, makes it hard to breath, isn't him but he's too drunk on these sensations to question it.

Carnal ruby red clash with sultry forest green as his pulls the edges of her plain white underwear to the side and lets his tongue really taste her for the first time.

He watches as her eyes flutter, shut close, until all he can see is her arching chest as she voices a loud moan that makes his blood sing for her.

A sharp tooth scrapes against her swollen clit and she bucks into his mouth, her fingers burying themselves in his tangle of hair with the need to hold onto something; anything. He repeats the action, receiving an encouraging tug at his hair, and it isn't long before she's heaving for breath and desperately trying to make this torture come to an end.

But she's denied that, as he firmly presses her down on the table and prevents her hips from moving.

Instead, he grins, and gives her wet slit one final lick.

"What is it you want, Maka?" Soul teases her, holding her thighs apart to expose her to him.

He plays with the thought of removing her underwear but decides not to; not yet.

Her face his red with both embarrassment and exertion and her lips part but form no words.

He's fine with that – he can wait until she graces him with her sweet voice. "Tell me."

She whines, shaking her head, pressing her lips tightly together. She tries to close her legs, regain a sense of decency, but he firmly keeps them apart.

He has no problem with her stubbornness, either – he finds it rather cute, trying to resist the inevitable.

"Soul – I, wait – !"

The pad of his thumb presses against her suggestively, rubs slowly as he watches her suck in breath and widen her eyes to their fullest extent. She's bucking again, aching for release, and he's pressing her down again, keeping her still as his thumb caresses her calmly.

"I'm waiting for my orders, my master," Soul husks, sinking a finger into her soaked sex and pulling out to reveal her essence. It drips down his fingers, a sticky mess, but he merely grins and sinks his fingers back inside of her wet cavern; to tease and feel her inner walls tighten around his long fingers needily.

"D-damn it, Soul," Maka gasps, body tensing when she feels his fingers sink back into her; teasing her with what she could feel if she decides to give into her devious weapon, who has somehow managed to remain obedient while making his own decisions. "You...you...!" She can't get the insult out – she's blinded by the shocks of pleasure that race up her aflame nerves and drown her in ecstasy.

He's thumbing her most sensitive part again and she's putty in his hands, to his immense glee.

"I live to serve you, Maka," Soul drags her down until their mouths are even. "I'm waiting." Instead of replying, she crushes her mouth against his and tangles her tongue in his, wrapping a leg around his waist and shoving his hardened cock against her soaking sex.

That is enough for him to know what she wants.

He grunts at the contact and fists a hand against the wood of the table when she runs her fingers through his hair right before she pulls back harshly, snapping his head back for him to stare at the hazy ceiling.

"You're not...being obedient, Soul," Maka breathlessly says, far too lost in the sensations of her body against his to entertain her virgin reservations. She pushes herself up against him, moans when their bodies react needfully, but keeps him in place by pulling his hair back like reigns "I thought you were going to be obey me..."

He slurps, licking away the saliva that managed to drip down the side of his mouth from their harsh kissing, in reply.

Soul groans when he feels her lips on his neck, her lips sliding down his sensitive skin until she reaches his collarbone, kissing almost tenderly before his head is pulled back again.

The pain is welcomed, as his hands grip her hips eagerly.

"I can't obey you if you don't give me orders to obey, Maka," Soul pants back. He wrenches his head from her hands and slams her down against the table, regaining his lost control. "So it's up to you." He presses against her dangerously, shutting his eyes against the molten heat that envelops his body. "Tell me what to do, Maka, and I'll do it."

She whines pitifully under him, clutching his slim hips against her tightly with her legs.

"Maka." He whines.

She arches off the table when his hard arousal rubs fiercely against her own, the friction of his pants and her underwear nearly her undoing.

"Take them off," Maka shakily demands, steeling her voice: "Now, Soul!"

"That's better," He pants contently, reaching down to undo his pants. He kicks them off, clad in only boxers, and for a second he thinks it's fair game – she's bare except for her soaked underwear and he's hot and hard under his boxers – when her hand shoots into his line of vision and viciously rips his boxers down his legs to reveal his bulging erection.

His eyes widen, startled by the assertive move on her part, but none of that matters when her hand grips him.

Hard flesh, smooth silk over hot metal, is met. She gives his cock a squeeze, deciding she likes the way he moans out her name. Her thumb runs over his tip curiously and he's thrusting into her hand, his fingers digging into her shoulder as he wheezes her name again.

"Stay still..." Maka grunts, intent on giving him a taste of his own medicine. "Just stay still, Soul!"

He says nothing but forces himself still with dog-like obedience – just as she wishes him to be.

His teeth dig into the tender skin of her shoulder, drawing blood when she allows his swollen cock to brush against her slick folds through the fabric of her underwear. The actions is nearly enough to make him scream uncle but he doesn't – instead, he just feels the way all his resistance is falling apart and he is nothing but her toy; an object that gives but asks for nothing in return, as she bites her lips and groans pleasantly in her throat, rubbing his hard flesh along her aching core.

"Ngh... more." The pulsing, blistering and urgent, heat that needily begs her for release is overwhelming. She can't take this torture anymore and, by the way he is biting her, his body trembling with the force of restraining himself from thrusting inside of her, his control is shearing away with every pass his cock does upon her slick folds. "S-Soul..!"

"What?" Soul asks hoarsely. He shakily leans up, his lips pressing against the side of her own. "Tell me, Maka. Tell me what you want."

"Now..." She begs, gripping his shoulder tremulously. Her nails dig into his skin and he's only more aroused by the pain. "Now, Soul!"

"Now, what?" Soul asks desperately, not because he's teasing but because he doesn't want to get ahead of himself. Her happiness is of utmost concern, and he can't have her regret this because his own selfish desires won against her own. For all he knows, she could intend to leave him like this: hot, bothered, and pained.

He groans, unable to take just how hard and painful his erection has become with her mindless ministrations. "What, Maka? Fuck... just tell me already!"

"J-just..." He can see it in her eyes – the dirty words that refuse to come from her mouth but is only too willing in his own. He weakly grins, swallowing hard against the tight pain in his lower abdomen; the pleasure that is being put on hold for her needs.

"Fuck you?" He finishes for her, her hesitant eyes meeting his own. He can see it; it's what she wants and he swells even more in anticipation. "Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck you, Maka?"

"I-I..."

"Is it?" He hisses, aggressively. "Because I'll fuck you if you tell me to." Her nails sink deeper in his back, drawing blood. He doesn't care; it feels good, he encourages the gruesome raking. "Suck it up and tell me to already!"

"Fine!" She shouts, gritting her teeth against the dignity inside of her that tells her not to say it; not to sink so low. But this heat, this painful restraint, is killing her; it really is. The carnal desire to have him fill her, to have him inside of her, is too much to bear alone. "Do it!"

"Fuck you?"

"Fuck me!" She snaps only to gasp when his arm briefly morphs into a scythe and he cuts away the last bit of clothing between them: her underwear. He spreads her, wide, and then he's slowly sinking inside of her, trembling as he reminds himself she's new to this and he cannot ram into her like he so desperately wants to.

Instead, he concentrates on her sweat-coated face and how her mouth moves around words he can't hear. He wishes he could read lips so he could know what she's saying but once he sinks past her barrier, rests there to allow her to adjust to his length, he could care less if she was cursing him to hell and back because he's lost to the sensory overload.

And the thick smoke of air surrounding them, veiling them, fuels these carnal sensations.

"M...aka." He can't stutter; he refuses to stammer as the muscles in his thighs harden with restraint. He wants to ram into her, hard and long, with no room for rest, but he can't. He has to be a good weapon and wait for her orders, wait for her to tell him (be it with a look or with words – he doesn't care) that he can fuck her with no inhibitions. "Please..."

"Move,” she orders, her moan shattering the silence. "Harder!"

And it's surreal.

He doesn't know if it's the fact that he's finally inside of her, finally able to bask in the blinding glory of sex, or if it's that smokey haze that spreads through them like mist on a cold autumn day.

But he does know that she's tight and hot; clamping around him with a force that nearly makes him come if not for his masochistic tendencies. The pain of prolonging the inevitable moment, of being able to feel her, slick and ready, is too tempting not to, even if his body screams for release.

Their mouths meet.

The contact of her tongue, coupled with their joint bodies, sends him into a total frenzy.

"S-Soul...!" She gasps, the air too thick to properly breathe in.

"Maka..." He grunts, thrusting into her and enjoying the flash of pleasure that crosses her face every time.

And then they reach a point where nothing matters but the light show behind their eyelids as they accidentally Soul Resonate; none being able to tell whose thoughts were whose as they scream each others name into the empty space of their shared apartment, a sinful sound that echoes far after they've finished.

She's wheezing for breath, chest heaving, heart pounding in her ears, and he weakens and falls on top of her like all his bones have been removed.

Sweat coats their bodies, both trembling with the aftermath of their actions, and Maka deliriously gazes at the smokey ceiling as she contently rides out the pleasant waves of orgasm.

"Soul...?" Maka softly calls, after a few more minutes of recollecting herself.

"Hmm?"

"That smoke..." She mumbles, her hands gently caressing the back of his neck as he rests against her decent chest. He's briefly glad that she had managed to grow into her lithe body. "What is it?"

He turns his head, able to distinctly see the see-through haze as he looks at the microwave. He had thought about what that smoke was before Maka drove him insane with need but now that he managed to get what he wanted, he had enough mind to question it...

"The candles!" He realizes, forcing himself up. He looms over her but his eyes are directed over his shoulder, to the three candles that are lit on the coffee table.

"Candles?" Maka murmurs in confusion. "What do the candles have to do with the smoke?"

He doesn't know; or maybe he does but he's too lazy to tell her. So he just shrugs and rests on her soft breasts against. "Uh, dunno'... I got 'em from Stein..."

Her breath hitches and Soul lazily looks up at her, watching her eyes widen in realization. Then, a shaky laugh escapes her throat. "You really are an idiot."

He raises a brow, grunting in question.

"Those candles..." Maka begins with a red flush. "They're the emotion heightening candles he made us sit through before, remember?"

"That dumb training that nearly got you killed when we fought against the werewolf?" Soul mumbles. He scowls and buries his face back in her chest. "...I knew I shouldn't have taken them when he offered them to me..."

"That's weird," Maka comments, wondrous. "Why would you give you those candles in the first place if he knew they nearly destroyed our partnership last time?"

"Don't know, don't care," he mumbles. Then he remembers something very important. "What time is it?"

"It's about to be... eight," Maka answers, her eyes on the clock overhead. "Why?"

"... 'Cause Black Star said he was coming over to play video games with me." Soul cringes when she gasps. "At eight."

"What—!"

A loud banging cuts off whatever Maka was going to say, Black Star's cheerful: "Hey, Soul! Open up! Guess what? I got Dead Requiem 2! Get ready to eat shit, my friend, SO OPEN UP! You know you want to!" He coaxes through the other side of the door. Maka scrambles off the table, picking up their discarded clothes at breakneck speed.

Soul just rolls on his back, sitting up and watching his meister ball up their clothes in her chest rapidly.

"What are you doing? Help me!" Maka snaps, when she realizes he's just sitting there, watching her, looking no more stressed than someone taking a drink of wine.

"Going, going..." Soul yawns, cracking his neck. "Geez, we're just naked—oof!" He tosses the shirt she threw at his face away, glaring at her.

"Not. A. Word," Maka hisses. The last thing she needs is Soul telling Black Star of this little... incident. "You heard me?"

Soul grins wolfishly. "Yes, my master!"

She threw his belt at him this time.

"Hmmm..."

Pen scratches against paper rapidly.

"...Resonance speed is up by twenty percent... strength has been increased exorbitantly... no damage to soul synchronicity..." He mutters under his breath, as he watches his two students train in the field. His Soul Perception catches every single flare of strength, every single change in their wavelengths or twitch of restraint in their bond.

"The hypothesis was correct," Franken Stein concludes to himself, placing his pen back in his lab coat.

"What're you mumbling about over there, Stein?" Spirit suspiciously asks, eying him as his friend calmly leafs through his notes in his notepad.

"It seems your mindless comment of sexual intercourse improving Soul Resonance rate and wavelength strength had been correct all along, senpai," Stein placidly informs. "Although I will have to conduct a few more experiments to finalize my research."

A giant, smug, grin breaks on Spirits face. "See? I told you! So, does this mean you're going to accompany me to Chupa Cabra's one of these days? Huh? C'mon, Stein, ya' know you want to!" He nudges him suggestively, the professor remaining undisturbed by his implications.

"I reiterate," Stein says, bored, "I will have to conduct a few more experiments. I highly doubt promiscuity will improve the strength and relationship between meister and weapon, though. Infidelity isn't usually welcomed in such relationships." A sadistic smile crosses his face at his friend's wounded look.

"Who was the unlucky pair who had to go through your heartless experiment, anyway?" Spirit mumbles, miffed by the none-too-subtle jab at his philandering habits. "Heh, I feel bad for them already!" He sniffs, haughtily.

Stein pushes his glasses up his nose calmly. "Maka Albarn and Soul Eater Evans." He grins, chuckling darkly at his senpai's sudden faint look.

"Wh...wha...no...what?" Spirit brokenly whispers, horror crossing his face. His mind spun into an overload; not wanting to accept that his Maka, his sweet, precious, Maka, had been taken away from him so cruelly. "M-my angel... M-M-Maka and that—that beast Soul? No way... I-I...impossible..!"

"Please refrain from disturbing their training, senpai." Stein hums pleasantly, lighting up another cigarette. "I believe they are on the brink of another power-up and I would like to—"

Thump.

"Oh. He fainted."

#tablebang fic #soul eater #soma #my fic #originally posted on fan fiction #flashback to the year 2010 when I had all this free time and I could write whatever the hell I wanted #now i just write papers and cry into a bottle a lot #good days guys #nsfw

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scurwrites · 9 years

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PLS UPLOAD THE TABLEBANG FIC ITS MY FAVE SMUT YOU ARE A GENIUS WRITER

Oh, my god I had no idea that anyone even really cared about that fic?? Sorry, guys, I took that fic down because I thought it wasn’t that great and it was written so long ago, I thought that no one would even bother to read it in this day and age. I have been proven very wrong haha.

I’ll reupload it on here and tag it tablebang fic since apparently that’s what this hunt has been dubbed.

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scurwrites · 9 years

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YOUR REVERB WAS SO CUTE OMG IM IN LOVE WITH HOW YOU WROTE DEATH CITY AND ALL OF IT'S WEIRD LITTLE QUIRKS AND PEOPLE. LIKE I JUST FOREVER NEED MORE HEADCANONS AND FICS FOR THE WEIRD ASS SHIT DEATH CHILDREN DO AND SAY. JUST- FUC K DUDE I LOVED IT.

thank you so much oh my god im so glad that you enjoyed the fic that much!! i was really concerned about it since it’s been a while since i contributed to the soma fandom but im glad i havent lost my touch haha :D

thanks!!!

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scurwrites · 9 years

Photo

Soul Eater Reverb: “Anticipation” And here is a link to my awesome partner, poisonedscarlett’s work. http://scurwrites.tumblr.com/post/123135857017/theres-a-screen-on-my-chest If you haven’t read this yet, go read it right away. If you’ve already read this, then go read it again. Scar is one gifted writer. I’m not good at giving a comment, but, well, it’s hard to believe this is her first time writing a pre-canon au!

#reverb 2015 #soma #soul eater #soul evans #maka albarn

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scurwrites · 9 years

Text

there’s a screen on my chest

- -> “Maka belongs to a legacy, but she also has the will to surpass that legacy, and he will do whatever it takes just to follow a step behind her” – a peek into the strong partnership of Soul "Eater" Evans and Maka Albarn, told in shorts.

words: 10501 pairing: soul/maka artist: allium-cepa-39 direct link: x art link: x

For Reverb 2015!

In the dead heat of the desert, she raises her binoculars and looks out in the distance, waiting on her parents to return from their mission. The return to the cracked, dry land that surrounded Death City has always been her favorite. She sits on the ledge of an old grocery store by the edge of town, near the entrance of Death City. She sits there long enough for two city busses to come and go, swinging her legs idly and wiping the sheen of sweat off her forehead from basking under the hot Nevada sun for so long.

Another bus comes, but this time with a passenger.

“Hm,” Maka hums, glancing down at the boy who stands by the bus bench awkwardly, suitcases piled beside him. New neighbor, Maka perks up curiously, watching him dial something on his phone. She wonders why he decided to move to Death City for a second, then realizes that he’s young—about as young as her, she decides, her eyes taking in his boyish features and—sharp teeth? This makes her sit up, attention finally grabbed. He has sharp teeth, could he be a demon weapon? There’s no way any normal civilian would have teeth like this, they’re common in blade types. What if he’s a scythe? Then again, judging by his age, she supposed he was here as a DWMA student. She doesn’t think she’s wrong; all the signs are there. Meister classes begin earlier—she’s already attending them with her childhood friend, Black Star—but weapon classes do not officially begin until they have been paired with a meister.

Maybe she can befriend him!

“Town is that way—less than a mile away!” Maka shouts helpfully, watching the white-haired boy tense and look around for her voice. He’s not very bright, she decides with a frown, watching him scramble for a few more seconds before she puts him out of his misery, “Up here!”

He snaps his head up and she’s met with large aviator glasses and a plain t-shirt, a jacket thrown over him. She’s not sure what he’s doing, dressed down so thickly in the sweltering, Nevada, heat, but she won’t question him. She’s met stranger individuals as a native to Death City. Plus, if he was a weapon, there was no way something like heat was going to distress him. After all, if one planned to join the DWMA, they had to have some sort of toughness to them. “What are you doing up there?” the boy shouts back, alarmed. She’s sitting on the ledge of the building, gangly legs dangling and all. “That’s dangerous! You could fall!”

“I’m waiting for someone!” she answers and, before she can inquire his name and his reason for being here (while Death City did receive many tourists, she was certain he was here as a student), a distracting sparkle of light has her jumping up on the ledge, binoculars at the ready.

She tilts dangerously forward and the boy below squawks.

“Whoa, be careful!”

“It’s fine! This is nothing,” she grins down, but that grin is quickly wiped away when she sees her mother jump off the back of a jeep driving at full speed, the sleek, black, staff of her father in his scythe form cutting through the air—that is, cutting through the air to stab into solid concrete a few meters away from the entrance because her mother just boomeranged her father into the street.

“I can’t believe you!” her mother screams, fists clenched at her side. Her cheeks are puffed in fury, sweaty, and there’s some rips in her clothes that weren’t there before. It was a tough mission, it seemed. The possible demon weapon boy steps back, and Maka is sure that the sweat on his brow has nothing to do with the heat now. Her mother could be scary when angry. “You BASTARD! We nearly died back there and you just, ugh, what is your problem?”

“We had it covered! C’mon—she fell onto my hand! She fell onto my hand, sweetheart! It wasn’t my fault, it’s not like I was trying to grope her!” The scythe wails, then, in a flash of light, transforms to reveal a handsome red-haired man who is rubbing his arm, pouting. His green eyes are sheepish but definitely guilty. Maka growls and looks away sharply in disgust; her father will never learn, he’s always digging himself into deeper graves when he tries to explain himself.

“LIAR! You can go crash with Stein because you will not be stepping foot inside my house!”

“Kasumi, please, listen—!”

“Leave,” she snarls, but Spirit only clutches to her hips and shakes his head violently, burying his face in her thighs in meek subservience.

“No, no, don’t make me stay with him, you know what he does…at night! He’s insane!” Spirit gulps, sweating bullets. “Kasumi, please, please,” and Maka watches, quietly, as her mother’s eyes soften the slightest bit before hardening again. She looks away, huffs in annoyance, but spits out:

“You can take the couch then.”

“Wha—what? Not the couch, it’s springy! Ka—oi, Kasumi, wait up, you have to believe me—!”

And her mother is gone in a cloud of dust and muttered curses, leaving her husband on his knees in the middle of nowhere.

Maka turns her sights back to the white-haired boy, who has comfortably slumped on the bus bench and had his headphones perched over his head. Whoever he was, she’s sure she’ll be able to be better acquainted with him at the Weapon-Meister convention—

“Maka? Maka, is that you? PAPA MISSED YOU SO MUCH, HONEY—!”

“But first, escape,” Maka nods gravely, running across the rooftop to another one before her father could catch up to her. “Mamaaaa!” Maka calls instead, perking up when her mother’s running falters and she looks over her shoulder, gray eyes crinkling in affection at the sight of her daughter.

Below, the demon-weapon boy flickers his eyes down to the gravelly road under his feet after watching Maka escape. He wonders who she is and, with a slight curl of his lip, if she’s as strong as she looked, sitting up there, the sun casting her into shadows with its brightness—promising something he doesn’t yet understand.

ii.

It’s hot—and Soul finds all at once that he does not particularly mind the heat. He stretches his arms over his head under the bright sunlight and smiles a little, grateful he had taken one of the short-sleeved button-up shirts he found bundled up in the back of his closet. It’s crosshatch in design, light blue, and comfortable as he steps out of the hotel. The DWMA did not host its annual Weapon-Meister convention until much later in the week; so, until then, he had been given a voucher to stay in one of the designated hotels for potential students and, should push come to shove, reside there for the rest of his term in the DWMA.

That’d be so lame, if they don’t wanna’ live with me, Soul sighs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and retracing his steps to the convenience store he spotted during his first tour of the city. Normally, weapon’s and meister’s dorm together. That’s to build up confidence in one another…which is also lame, he sighs again, longer this time. I guess living in a hotel isn’t so bad. I don’t want some guy to be sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. If I can become a Deathscythe without needing to interact with my meister any more than necessary, that’d be great.

“HEY, THERE, YOUNG MAN!”

“Wha—!” Soul chokes, the hairs on his body standing up straight when he’s face to face with a spooky—cartoon skeleton mask? Soul’s eye twitches. “What the hell is this?”

“In honor of Lord Death’s 899th birthday, we’re giving away free masks and a raffle ticket which can earn you the chance to win a brand-spanking-new 600CC DEATHCYCLE COMPLETE WITH A COOLEST WAYS TO DIE HANDBOOK!! Helmet not included,” the lady adds with a loud, piercing, cackle and Soul can’t help but gape when the words finally register in his mind.

“A handbook…on how to die cool?” Soul repeats, stricken but intrigued. Ever since coming to Death City, his ideas on cool and possibly risky endeavors have converged. “Are you serious?”

“Why, of course!” The woman blinks her eyes rapidly behind the eyeholes of the mask, bending down to his level. She is very tall, spindly like a spider with long, thin legs and even longer arms. She has an eerily perfect angled bob cut, her hair a dark shade of orange. She almost looks disproportional when she bends down this way, peering at him as if she can smell the tourist in him. Whether she did or not, she did not let him know. “Why would a Death Child lie in the face of Death? Here you go!” She hands him a cheap plastic cartoon mask and a raffle ticket, which flutters in the blow of hot air and sand. “We’ll be announcing the winner in five days, on the day of the Weapon-Meister Convention, so keep your ears open and your eyes peeled,” she pauses, then giggles. “Peeled,” she repeats, stepping back and away from Soul’s uncertain gaze, “Haha, what a bloody expression!”

Soul quickly crosses the street to avoid any other weird natives—only to run into a burly man in a suit wearing a freakishly huge bunny mask over his head, then two small girls who were frighteningly identical and who grinned to reveal sharp canines, their mauve colored eyes glinting predatorily at Soul.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, bypassing them without another glance. He looks up again when he catches a shadow in the sky and finds a giant blimp hovering overhead. If he squints, he can see Death’s mask plastered cheerfully among the gloom of the blimp, which is painted black and seems to hunch in the sky as if a giant weight were pressing down on its sides.

“Lord Death, huh…” he thinks aloud, clutching the mask in both his hands. His brother said that the best way to fit in with the residents was to take everything in stride and not think lesser of anyone he comes into contact with. He has to relax and basically act like he always acts when he’s with his brother: like a normal person. But Wes had also warned him that the natives of Death City were renowned for their strangeness and he should read up on the customs so he doesn’t insult anyone accidentally. Not that Soul particularly cares about insulting someone. But still, Wes doesn’t want to have to receive a phone call declaring his little brother a total douchebag with no cultural sensitivity whatsoever.

Though, Soul doesn’t think it’d be a huge problem. He googled Death City, and mostly just found it bizarre in a calming way. Everything people said was weird or downright taboo, Soul thought was cool. Soul’s always had an affinity to strangeness—it’s what isolated from his home-life, after all. However, his strangeness did not compare to this strangeness.

Here, he practically fits in—his stark white hair, spiked wildly, his dull red eyes, his shark teeth. He’s no stranger than the spider woman who gave him the raffle ticket. He’s no stranger than the man with the bunny helmet, the twin girls with unnerving madness lurking in their eyes.

I fit in, Soul realizes, suddenly. It’s like an uncomfortable weight has been lifted, one he didn’t think he had been sporting for so long. He can breathe easier now, and he doesn’t feel the need to hide under his bangs any longer. I’m not weird here. Everyone…everyone here’s even weirder than I am! If anything, I’m pretty normal—

“His hair is white—it’s cool,” he hears some guys whisper, standing a few ways away. Soul holds his breath, pretending to check something on his belt buckle. “Check out his teeth—they’re like Hi-Ten’s!”

“Whoa, they are! They look sharper, though…you think he’s a demon weapon?”

“Gotta’ be…”

“Dean’s gonna’ be psyched! He always wanted a blade-type! Good to know there’s one here.”

Soul instinctively grabs his arm at that. Blade-type. They had figured out his big secret just by looking at him. They must be native, Soul realizes, and he must be…not as ‘unique’ (to quote his politically correct parents) as he first thought he was.

They’re dressed down unusually, with highlighter-bright colors of greens and reds and purples, baggy and an eye-sore. Fishnet that travels down to the wrist, with a baggy tank top that’s cut down the sides to reveal scrawny muscle. Strange, almost demonic and malevolent, caricatures are printed on their shirts with equally disturbing messages in graffiti bold letters.

Death City has always been a tourist attraction, emphasized by the strange customs that seem to exist only in the city and which people from all the world sought out to experience. Soul guesses it has something to do with Death and his influence, perhaps the fact that the town is a literal military base for the hunting and extermination of witches and demon eggs.

But he fits in, and that’s all that matters to Soul in the moment as he continues his trek down the street, growing fond of a city which boasts its strangeness proudly.

iii.

“Just three more days! Three more days and then I’ll find the biggest and bestest weapon at that stupid convention! Only the best weapon for a god!” Black Star hoots, taking huge steps with his arms crossed behind his head as Maka hums happily beside him. His grin is wide enough to split his face. He can see the calendar nailed to the wall with clear intensity in his mind’s eye: just three more days, and they could be true DWMA students.

“Black Star, you can’t just take this lightly! You can’t just go partnering with any weapon that you decide is strong enough! You have to be compatible with your weapon partner, so you have to find a person you not only like, but—!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Blah, blah, blah! My weapon will love ALL OF ME because I’m the best there is, Maka, you heard Sid!” He taunts, sending her a smirk that makes her brow tick. But Maka maintains her cool and answers crisply instead:

“He only said that so you’d come down from the tower,” Maka sniffs, but his ego is not in the least dented. In fact, he laughs as if she told him an endearing joke, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Besides, even if you find a good weapon, you have it easy because you’re not picky about the one you want.”

“Oh, yeah,” Black Star blinks, remembering. “You wanna’ be just like your scary mom—ouch!”

Maka ignores his grumbling. “I want a scythe type, and you know how quickly meister’s pair up with those. They’re the original Deathscythe’s.”

“Eh, you’ll find one!”

Maka pauses, glancing at him from under blonde bangs. “What makes you so sure I will?”

“Coz you’re my friend, obviously,” Black Star shoots back, grinning toothily. Maka sighs; it’s too much to ask that Black Star have some sort of insightful words to her predicament. But his optimism is welcomed. “So I know that you’ll find a scythe and then you’ll kick ass right behind me!”

Maka’s brow twitches. “Behind?”

“Because I’m number one, jeez, Maka, you’re slow today!” Black Star laughs boisterously and dodges a flying kick, swinging around a lamppost and making a break for it with his childhood friend hot on his heels—all childish laughter and no problems, with only what they can think about a few days in the future bothering them.

Maka hopes this never changes.

iv.

The sweltering summer heat that locks up her lungs is enough to have her regretting walking to the bookstore at noon, when the sun is at its hottest. But she doesn’t let the heat bog her down too much; if she did, then she’d never leave her room. As it is, she doesn’t leave it enough and her papa is always on her case about making more friends (only with girls, though, Maka!!) and hanging out with them so she’s not always so alone in her home when her parents are out on missions.

Just to spite him, Maka thinks about making friends with a boy.

She enters the bookstore with a happy sigh, waving at the owner who sets down his magazine to greet her just as happily. Maka Albarn is their best customer; she never leaves without a book under her arm. But Maka only manages to browse the autobiographical section, eying the brand-new edition of the celebrity cannibal Issei Sagawa, before she senses something over her shoulder and she looks, wide green eyes locking on the flash of white hair that disappeared into the record store across the street.

She’s sure it’s that boy—the white-haired boy, the possible demon weapon.

So he likes music, Maka wonders. She has class in an hour, so she won’t be able to talk to him much, but maybe once the curriculum began, they could be friends. Maybe he likes electro, too! And she gives into her urge to browse the revised edition of the celebrity cannibal.

Across the street, Soul is torn between calling his brother to send him some good music please or succumbing to his morbid curiosity and checking out what was the deal with Bitches Brew around these parts.

He’s never been all right in the head, so he picks up the vinyl and squints at it, deciding he’ll ask the old man at the front if he had a record player he could use to check it out quickly—

“—AT ME, KILLIK! YAHOOOOO!”

“Gah, get back here, dude, seriously, those are limited edition—!”

“They look like regular gloves to me—lemme’ use ‘em, c’mon!”

Soul watches in disbelief as a blue-haired boy practically barrels through the window of the record shop, glass shattering everywhere. And there isn’t a spot of damage on the kid. Soul gasps and snaps his head to the old man, who merely flips another page in his accounting book and squints at the numbers. Soul turns back to the blue-haired boy who’s now wrestling with some dark-skinned guy with a baggy white shirt in the open space of the shop, both exchanging blows with a power that awes Soul. They’re about his age—no, they are his age and they’re dealing punches (the dark-skinned guy has cracked his fist through the wall and it doesn’t look like it hurt him one bit) that are stronger than a pro wrestlers. The blue-haired boy has some boxing gloves on, too, and when he tries to punch the other guy, he miscalculates and ends up propelling himself into the far back wall, his fist caving in the walls.

“Boys!” the old man suddenly shouts.

Finally, was the old man just deaf or—

“Watch that shelf, that shipment just came in this week,” the man says instead and Soul rubs his temples; everyone here is insane. Everyone here is insane and he can’t wait to tell Wes that he’s doing great.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Deaton, we won’t break anything!” the dark-skinned boy promises.

“Dude,” Soul says, before he can help himself, “You just broke through the window. It’s a little too late for that.”

Finally, two pairs of eyes acknowledge him and while the dark-skinned boy smiles lopsidedly in sheepish agreement, the blue-haired boys eyes gleam with new challenge and, before Soul can even get another word out, the blue-haired boy rushes him with a snarling shout.

“Wha—!” Soul barely manages to dodge, but it seems that the blue-haired boy got what he was looking for because then he’s laughing noisily and offering him a hand like he hadn’t just rushed him with killing intent.

“You’re fast! My name’s THE GREAT BLACK STAR and I’m the best meister around these parts! That guy over there is one of my followers, Kil—!”

“Kilik Rung, meister,” the boy introduces himself after smacking Black Star away. He offers his hand and Soul thinks he’s one of the few people that isn’t over thirty who looks like an average teenage boy. “You, uh,” he gestures to his face and Soul stares, “you’re a weapon, right?”

But before Soul could get a word in, Black Star wedges between them and then just talks about how great he is and if he were a weapon, he’d be considering partnering up with him because he was the absolute best. Soul doesn’t buy it, neither does Kilik by the looks of it, but Soul realizes that this blue-haired guy was the real deal: a narcissist and reckless to a fault, loud and sort of fun? Soul can’t really find it in himself to hate the guy even when he talks over him. He says some dumb things sometime but he’s the first guy his age who treats Soul like he’s normal and isn’t even fazed about his weapon abilities. A guy who doesn’t treat him differently because of his money or his connections or his name and this only reinforces Soul’s conviction that the only way he’s going to be able to maintain this is to change his name in the paperwork every year.

Soul is already a nickname he’s used to. Everyone was frightened of his teeth back at home, but they dug his teeth here. Wes had always jokingly compared them to a sharks, but if he’s gonna be cool then “Eater” is probably the coolest he’s gonna’ get. He doesn’t think “Soul Shark” would do anything to improve his street cred. His type eats souls, anyway, right? Soul thinks it’s fitting, even if the idea of devouring evil kishin souls sort of makes him want to double over and vomit still.

“Black Star! Sid’s going to be so mad that you broke Mr. Deaton’s window again!” a girlish voice comes from the shattered window. Soul’s eyes widen with recognition—it’s that girl he met when he first came to Death City. She’s wearing a thin tank top and some really short shorts and, from this perspective, he can see that she has braided a headband with her hair and the rest flows down her back loosely. She feels just as dangerous as the two guys who started an impromptu wrestling match in the middle of a record store, Soul realizes.

He doesn’t get it yet, how he can know that, but he senses it and something instinctual in him tells him that he has to be careful because he’s not at their level yet.

“Pfft, as if Sid’ll do anything! He’s such a pushover!” Black Star snorts, confidently. “Besides, he likes fixing shit for the old man, right, Mr. Deaton?”

“Well, it is quite nice to have the newest-in-store windows installed every month,” Mr. Deaton comments, smiling a little before going back to his task.

The girl sighs, exasperated. Soul sort of wants to, too.

“Dude, c’mon,” Kilik snatches his boxing gloves back. “We have to go to class—you can tell Sid we, uh, broke the window again when we get there! Anyway, Soul, we’ll catch you later, alright? Don’t be a stranger!” Kilik departs with a friendly wave, grabbing Black Star by the collar to bring him along.

“WE SHOULD MEET UP AT THE CONVENTION!” Black Star screeches, before they could leave. “IT’D BE AWESOME, DUDE, OH, FIRST ONE TO KNOCK THE CHANDELIER OFF THE CEILING CAN DARE THE LOSER TO DO WHATEVER THEY WANT!”

“Black Star,” the girl growls.

Kilik is grinning deviously despite his previous level-headed appearance. “I’m in!”

And Soul, Soul can’t help his own sharp-toothed grin of mischief as he tucks the vinyl under his arm and nods at him. “Bet I can knock it off in the first ten minutes!”

Kilik’s shoulders relax for the first time since they met and the girl looks very surprised at him, glossy green eyes fixed on him in a way that makes his skin itch weirdly.

Black Stare pauses, blinks, and laughs even louder: “YOU’RE ON!”

And ten minutes later, as Black Star runs ahead of them while telling them just what he’d make Soul do once he won, Maka turns to Kilik and comments: “He didn’t ignore him.”

Kilik smiles, nodding. “He seems like a good guy. I wonder what kind of weapon he is,” he throws a punch and Maka clasps her hands into fists behind her back and wonders, too.

Too keep reading, click on this link! Or find me on fanfiction.net under the penname Poisoned Scarlet!

#reverb 2015 #soul eater #soma #fic #maka albarn #soul evans #allium-cepa-39 #if the links act up shoot me a msg

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scurwrites · 9 years

Note

Kiss on the back and SoMa please

15. Kiss on the back

“These missions are getting harder,” Soul comments, holdingback a flinch when Maka rolls his shirt up his back enough to examine hiswound. It would leave an ugly scar, Maka notes, if he were any other human. It’squite difficult for meister’s and weapon’s alike to scar; it takes a deep woundfor this happen, and she tries not to think about the scar tissue that curveshis chest nowadays.

“Papa said it would be hard, at first,” she replies. “We’llget used to it. We just have to be more careful.”

Soul only grunts in agreement.

“Here, bend your neck a little,” Maka softly tells him,helping him pull off the bloody shirt. She decides she’ll just toss this shirtaway later; it’s too bloody and torn to wash or sew up. “Can you bend forward?”She blinks when he, cross-legged, hunches over completely so the scratch marks onhis back stretch painfully, but at least she can quickly disinfect and bandagethem up. She does just so, already attuned to her partner’s small twitches and flexingmuscles; she can read him, read his body language and hear his soft hisses, howhe parts his lip in silent protest before biting down. He doesn’t whine aboutaftercare—he hasn’t since that scar curved his chest, his hip, a reminder ofher failure of action. Instead, he stands it and sometimes she can’t stand just how steady and strong he really is.

Maka leans forward, fingertips pressed gently into thecenter of his spine, and his muscles tense again. She’s sure he can feel her breathfanning his shoulder blades, drawing closer and farther like the tide at thebeach they frequent for weekend training, and she closes her eyes and imaginesjust for a moment that he isn’t injured and exhausted from a mission, butsitting here on his bed, his back to her, vulnerable and willing, because they can—because he chose her in a way that isn’t for duty.

But she guesses he didchoose her, in a way, because he stayed with her. Her lips ghost his skin in asemblance of a kiss.

Instantly, he shoots straight up and Maka squeals when hebusts her nose in and immediately he’sturning around and apologizing profusely, red in the face and eyes blown wide, cursingas he watches his meister glare at him from over the hand that’s clutching herbloody nose.

“I-I felt something weird!”

“That was my nose, Iwas looking at the gauze on your back to make sure it was properly taped!” Makagrumbles, nasally with watery eyes, not out of pain because she’s had her nosebusted more times than she cares to note, but because she’s learned every timeshe busts something up it’s her body’s natural reaction to water her eyes. It’snothing new; it’s just something she’s learned to deal with. But the instantSoul sees the unnatural glimmer in her eyes, he scrambles to his feet and takesher by the elbow, guiding her into the bathroom where he tends to her now and doesn’t let up no matter howmuch she protests that it wasn’t thatbad and the bleeding would stop in a few minutes.

“It felt really weird, it didn’t feel like your nose,” Soul insists,tossing away bloodied toilet paper while Maka runs her hands under the faucet,rubbing away more bloody. Her nose throbs; it figures Soul would give her morepains than she needs.

“If it wasn’t my nose, then what else could it have been?”Maka snaps back, tapping her nose cautiously twice and sending him a slightsmile of okay, I’m fine now, beforeheading out to the kitchen for a glass of water. It’s faint, very faint, butshe hears his reply before she exits his room and its sheer skill that keepsher from faltering and letting him know that she heard him:

“Your lips.”

#soul eater #fic #my fic #soma #fic meme

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scurwrites · 9 years

Note

SoMa 3

3. Drunk/sloppy kiss - SoMa

(sorry this became a lot more serious than it was supposed to be!! I hope you like it nonetheless

“Maka,” Soul warned,turning his face away from her after she planted a drooling kiss on his mouth.He could hear her giggling in his ear, cooing his name and giggling, and he managed quick, dark look at Black Star beforefacing his intoxicated meister and her slobbery kisses again. Her purposeful kisses which he rolled hiseyes at, but he was unable to hide the upward twitch at the corner of his lips whenshe pressed forward and licked his lower lip with that cheesy, cheery glint inher green eyes.

“The pow’r of sake, bro,”Black Star sucked back a burp, squinting down at the sake bottle in his hand.He tried to read the label but then realized he could not understand kanji andthrew the bottle by the side of the couch. Tsubaki understood kanji; he couldread hiragana and katakana fairly well, but kanji made his head spin. This sake made his head spin. “Holy shit, Baki’s gramps ha’ some go’d stuff,” he let his head fall back, head whirling.“I’m fucked up.”

“You two drank an entirebottle of sake together,” Soul deadpanned as explanation.

“We ga’v you some!!”

He glanced down at hissake, untouched. “Doesn’t count.”

“Tch, missin’ out on thefun! Maka’s rig’t, you can be a stick in th’ mud! Both of you are! You’re perfect together! No wond’r you two start’d dating, you’re both boringgggg!”

Soul rolled his eyes at his friends whining but did not comment.

“Maka’s—nevergotten fucked up before! Until now buwhaha!” Black Star rambled on, grinning widely. “Beer don’t do shitto Maka—she got tha’ from tha’ old hag!”

Soul looked up at that, curiosity piqued. He shoved a hand at Maka’s face when she tried to lick his jawline. “Who? Spirit?”

“Nah—the ol’ hag, Nanami-baasan,” Black Star waved hishand dismissively.

“Nanami?”

“Yeah?” Black Starpeeled an eye open, rolling his head so he could face Soul. “S’Maka’s mom—she nevertell you ‘er name?”

“No, I knew that,” Soullied. Black Star was drunk enough to buy it. “Nanami was a heavy drinker?”

“Drinker? Bahahaha!Nanami-baasan hated alcohol, but shecou’ ou’drink any motherfucker who challenged her!”

“Tha’ was how she metpapa,” Maka added sleepily, resting her cheek against Soul’s. She had calmed significantly;at least she stopped her game of planting slobbery kisses on him. “Papachalleng’d her to a drinkin’ competition six times an’ she drank him under thetable every single time,” she nuzzled his cheek, his nose, and he turned enoughto plant a soft kiss on her temple before she snuggled against his side.

“Then he hit on her for real and she beat the crap out of ‘em!”Black Star cackled. “She didn’t speak to ‘em for weeks! But Nanami-baasan was close to Stein, trained with him andshit, so she gave ‘em a chance. Figured he cou’n’t be tha’ bad if hewas Stein’s weapon.”

“Thought wrong,” Makamumbled, more than half-asleep by now. He heard the soft breath of sadness inthose words and he tightened his grip on his meister.

“Huh,” was all Soulsaid, deciding she needed to sleep the alcohol off now. Maka spoke of hermother often but, unlike her father, she only addressed her mother as ‘mama.’He never really found the need to ask for her name; never thought to, though itseemed stupid now. A lot of things that he believed he already knew, he reallyonly knew half-way. It made him uncomfortable, this half-knowledge; he alwaysthought he knew everything important about his meister’s life. He presumed toomuch. He had some question to ask her when she was sober. “C’mon,Maka. Let’s go to sleep.”

“It’s barely three!!”Black Star bellowed, sprawled out like a starfish on the floor. “S’too early”

“Tsubaki told me to getyou to bed at midnight. She’s gonna’ be mad you stayed up so late, drinking,too,” Soul reminded, hiking Maka up in his arms. She did not stir, already deadasleep. “So much for video game night…”

“GOD’S HAVE NOBEDTIMES!!”

But before he couldthink of some questions, he needed to handle the idiot sprawled on his floor, possiblyon the verge of puking given the unsightly green tinge his face had gotten.

#soul eater #fic #fic meme #soma

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scurwrites · 9 years

Text

Car Jack AU

Stole a car with someone sleeping in the back seat [Turns out that the car had already been stolen so basically you just stole a stolen car] AU

“Shitshitshit,” Soul swore in panic, jamming his arm through the cracked window. He looked over his shoulder and saw a flash of blue and red. He wedged his arm frantically down the window, unlocking it after a few misses. He threw the door open and instantly reached below the wheel, tearing the panel off and ripping out the wiring hastily to hot-wire the vehicle.

That is, if it had not already been hot-wired.

Soul’s brows furrowed and before he could even stand, he felt something cold press against his temple.

“Don’t move,” a woman demanded.

“Fuck, I don’t need this,” Soul groaned and turned to look into pretty green eyes. Pretty green eyes that were hard and cold on his own, the gun trained on him held firmly in her hand. Experienced, he instantly noted, she was not afraid of what she was doing. She knew what she was doing. He felt his throat tighten but he blanked his expression.

She spoke first.

“Back away and find some other car, I don’t need any trouble.”

“I’d do that, except the cops are literally around that corner—actually,” Soul glanced sidelong, a curse building in his throat. “They’re right there! And if you did what I think you did then you’re fucked, too—!”

“Oh, no you don’t! I was perfect fine until you decided to steal this car!”

“Put that thing down!” Soul swatted the gun from his face and growled when she raised it again, more threateningly. “You stole this car before me, moron, I don’t think you should be talking!”

“You’re the moron! Just GO AWAY!”

“Not until they pass by,” Soul maintained, shutting the driver door behind him in finality. The woman looked offended at that and she tried to push him out, shaking her head.

“The last thing I need is to be involved with the police again, get out and find another car! You still have time!”

“Not when I’m already in here, they’ll figure something is up if I suddenly get out and book it while they’re down the street,” Soul insisted, looking behind her to see that they were definitely approaching and fast. They were checking the cars as well, he noted with distaste.

“We’ll both get caught if you don’t leave!”

“Just shut up and follow my lead!”

And then she tried to kick him out by force. What a bitch.

She grabbed his face, he growled at her to quit it; she tried to kick him, he clutched her bony knee and launched himself at her, the gun clattering under the seat as she tried to wedge herself between the gap of the front seats, both of them swearing up a storm as they tried to kick each other out of the car childishly.

“Shut the hell up—I will throw you under the bus if you don’t quit it,” Soul hissed at her, who stilled for a moment and flashed violent green eyes in his direction. He had his hand on her neck, not in a strangle but in an attempt to push her away without having her biting him or something. “If I get caught, you get caught, too, so just chill and—!” He squirmed and fell beside her in the backseat, breathing heavily. He could hear them—they were on them already, it was too late now. Soul groaned and clutched his jacket pocket protectively. “Look, I know this is seriously uncool but at this rate we’ll both get caught and I dunno’ about you, but I hated prison!”

The woman bit her lip and sucked in breath when she looked over her shoulder. Soul saw it, too, and he crawled over her—and she let him, though she turned her face away from his when his body was sidled up to her suggestively. She held her breath and shut her eyes and Soul pressed his forehead to hers and stayed very still, but he was sure she could hear his breathless “just pass, just pass” as he hoped—

There was a tap on the glass.

He had the worst luck.

Soul shut his eyes and swore but the girl was quicker—she slid up suddenly and pressed his face into her neck, her arms around his neck. When she looked out the window, she faked a laugh and waved at the police officer peering into the car.

“What’s the issue, sir?” she asked, curiously. Soul swallowed thickly and looked up from her neck, glancing at the officer who was none-too-subtly scrutinizing the inside of the car. He was very young; new, Soul deduced, and was sure the girl had come to the same conclusion.

“There’s been a bank heist a few blocks down, we think the criminal might have broken into one of the cars—!”

“Oh—a man, you mean, right?”

The officer immediately straightened. Soul stopped breathing, eyes widening.

“I’ve seen him,” she continued, but tightened her grip on his neck. Instantly, Soul looked down and the corner of his lip twitched when he found she had the gun trained on his side. “I saw him run down the block, I thought he was just jogging! I was just here with my boyfriend, ah—!”

“That explained all the noise,” Soul lied easily, looking up at the officer. When the officer looked at him, his brows pinched together for a second before he unwisely shook his gut feeling off. “We saw some guy run down the block but there’s been a lot of joggers recently…”

Easy, Soul would say. Easy and very, very lucky this officer did not question further, did not ask them to step out of the vehicle for further questions; lucky that the officer was distracted by a series of shouts from up-ahead that validated their lies. Easy, Soul would sigh out as he pushed off the girl.

“Bank heist, huh?” the woman glared. “Where’s the money?”

“No money,” Soul scowled, glaring back. “Yet. I just needed a specific code and it was hard as hell to get and I don’t need your shit, alright, thanks for helping me out. Later,” he was about to kick open the back door when she grabbed him by his collar and pulled him back between her legs. Wide eyes stared up to find her leaning over him, her ash pigtails falling over her shoulder to graze his cheek. He felt cold metal against his temple and her smirk was reminiscent of the cutting ones he saw back when he was part of an old hack division in a mafia.

“I don’t save anyone for free.”

Soul closed his eyes and thinned his lips. Of course she didn’t; he wouldn’t, he grudgingly admitted. “What do you want?”

“Ten thousand should cover it.” She told him, innocently.

“Ten—!” Soul choked. He sent her a terrible glower. “Fuck off, pigtails, you’re not suckering out ten grand from me—!” She pressed the gun to his temple with a raised brow. Soul flatly said, “You do that a lot but don’t follow up.”

“If I did, I’d get no money,”

“On that note—!”

“But I’m sure you’ll still live if I,” she lowered the gun down to his thigh then smiled dangerously and moved the muzzle to rest on his groin. Soul slit his eyes. “The great thing about this gun is that it’s not a real gun,” she explained nonchalantly. “It’s an air-gun. Relatively quiet, with no accidental deaths should it go off. However, at point-blank range…”

Soul grinned wryly, rogue eyes darkening at her tone. He used his knuckle to push her back, leaning forward to hiss, “Five and you can fuck off.” She wore a black crop top, revealing her taut stomach. He made sure to keep his eyes locked on hers.

“Ten,” she stated, firmly, and leaned closer to him. He could smell her peppermint breath, tickling his nose. Her lashes were long and fair; he could see her fine cheekbones, touch them almost. He flicked his eyes up to her pretty green, a forest of shadows. “And you can fuck off with both legs functioning.” She smirked again. “Among other things.” She made sure he did not forget as she tapped his groin meaningfully.

Despite himself, the corners of his lips twitched upward. She was willing to fuck him up if it meant getting her due; he respected that. When her own curled up as well, as if reading his thoughts, he decided his fate could be a lot worse than being blackmailed by a pretty thug with dark green eyes and a grin to match.

“Alright, but you’re gonna’ have to cool it with the gun, okay, it’s seriously uncool!”

“I’ll cool it when I have ten grand in my suitcase,” she sniffed but lowered her weapon. When his eyes flicked down for a moment, he saw the garter—no, holster that clung to her lean thighs. Her ruffle skirt was tight on her; he wondered just what she did for a living. She looked like any other pretty California girl dressed down like this. He knew better by the frosty look in her eyes, the hard line of her mouth.

“Just what do you do?” Soul meant it as an ice-breaker, expected her to scoff at him or ignore him, as he crawled back to the driver’s seat. He stiffened when he felt the muzzle of that damn air-gun back on his side, felt her warmth as she leaned forward and watched him turn on the car.

“I’m a weapon for hire,” she told him nonchalantly and he froze. “And short on a job right now.”

He groaned and let his face plant on the wheel. “Figures it’s my luck to get stuck with some sort of fucking femme fatale.”

“Just drive, you idiot,” she rolled her eyes.

“Do I at least get a name?” Soul muttered, flooring it, and sniggering when she jerked forward with a yelp and her grip on her air-gun loosened. But it stopped being so funny when she smacked the back of his head with the butt of the gun. Just as he was swearing up a storm, car swiveling dangerously, she spoke and he happened to catch her sparkling eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“My name is Maka.”

“Soul,” he replied and let out a long-suffering sigh when she decided his groin would be a lovely place to store the muzzle of her goddamn-gun. Again.

“Nice alias.”

“I’m serious, my name is Soul,” he insisted, slightly offended. “Ain’t giving a hit-man my fuckin’ last name, but my first name is weird enough to pass as an alias and most people don’t ask, okay? Weirdo,” he mumbled as an after-thought, then regretted it when she flicked his earlobe. “Ow!”

“I’ll believe you this one time,” she ignored his whining. “But try to lie to me and you’re getting shot where it hurts the most.”

Soul groaned internally. This woman was sure to be his end one way or another. All he wanted was a dumb code to get some dumb money so he could never work another day in his life, was that too much to ask for?

Maka’s gun on his groin said yes.

#soul eater #soma #soul evans #maka albarn #scurwrites #fic #car jack au

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scurwrites · 9 years

Photo

"Best friends help each other however they can….right?”

#soul eater #soma #fic #art for resbang #resbang 2014 #sfw art

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scurwrites · 9 years

Link

—> “Best friends help each other however they can, right?” – In which Maka Albarn initiates a friends-with-benefits arrangement with close friend, Soul Evans, and through a series of sexual mishaps, realizes they may not be so different in their wants after all.

Word Count: 21,075 Pairing: Soul/Maka, implied side pairings Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual content

A huge, warm thanks to calinyh and orangeblossomtea for drawing up the art for my resbang fic! These links can be found here, here and here! As a note of caution, these artworks contain NSFW content!

Special thanks to bitternovember for betaing this story at its beginning stages! She was the one who gave me the motivation to continue and finish the story, to be honest! So thanks, Bit, you're a lifesaver!

#resbang 2014 #soul eater #soma #soul evans #maka albarn #fic #scurwrites #nsfw #links added now

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scurwrites · 9 years

Note

meeting at a masquerade ball au twelve and lisa

.34 meeting at a masquerade ball au – zankyou no terror, twelve and nine; implied lisa/twelve

note: this is anime-compatible; the fic doesn’t reference any particular scene within canonverse, it’s more introspective.

Nine is the one who grabs his wrist, the leather strap of his watch digging into Twelve’s skin as Nine faces him—glacial, black eyes holding his own, accusingly, warningly, but Twelve merely laughs merrily and dances out of Nine’s grip as he always does.

Twelve cannot be held down by Nine; he never could, and Nine is not under the impression that he ever will. Twelve is a force in itself; a one-man show, using the chains of their youth to strangle those who infringe on their goal unlike Nine, who is bound so low by these chains, he may as well be praying.

Twelve finds faults in people like archaeologists dust for hieroglyphics in dry deserts.

Nine crushes them unflinchingly.

It is Twelve’s curiosity that drives them, but also holds them, because Twelve’s curiosity is a dangerous thing. Nine has learned this the hard way—that rabbit, that officer and his daughter—and it’s a cursed thing, consuming whatever it touches and melting holes into them until they hardly resemble themselves—crushed rabbits and murdered families, Nine remembers.

So perhaps out of the two of them, Twelve has more chains than he’s willing to admit.

“You said you would not see her again,” Nine tells him evenly.

“Ahh—I said I would not see her again that day!” Twelve cleverly replies, lifting his mask over twinkling eyes. He thinks he’s so cunning, Nine thinks furiously, he believes he has everything figured out only because he can memorize a page of a book in a blink of an eye. But he doesn't have it all figured out and all of those pages, all of those words, all of those periods and commas and semicolons—they all tangle up in his mind, get brushed under other information, are filed incorrectly, and Twelve is absolutely wrong to assume he can deal with a simple high school girl he met as a masquerade ball those few days ago.

Lisa—with her bland black hair and sad black eyes, fragile and harmless, like that injured rabbit Twelve had found in the backyard of one of their first hideouts. A common field rabbit with spots of brown and white and black, crippled and unable to walk. Twelve had nursed it back to health, and then it had gone off and died.

“You know what will happen,” Nine tells him. “Stay.”

“I know what can happen.”

“Twelve,” Nine warns.

“Ara, ara! Don’t get so bent out of shape over this, Nineeee!” Twelve laughs jovially, reaching over to pat his shoulder meaningfully. “I’ll be back before dark, I just need to take care of some things with her, alright?” The look in Twelve’s eyes is dark—sinister, unyielding—before it disappears to a more familiar, cheerful façade. Nine thinks Twelve doesn’t even need to keep up his mask charade: his entire person is a mask itself, a disguise, and Nine would tell anyone that even he does not know who Twelve really is even though the truth is that Nine and Twelve are more similar than they would ever admit.

Nine understands—too well, too well, of Five and her squealing laugh and glittering, sparkling eyes, of London bridges and innocent lambs, of timid affection and darting eyes—and he just wants to save him from the despair of heartache.

But Twelve has always been too curious for his own good.

��You should have sacrificed your queen,” Nine bitterly tells him, reaching for his smartphone as Twelve zips up his jacket with an inane hum, his mask firmly in place again.

“But don’t you think my knight would be a better move?”

Nine’s eyes widen and before he can turn, Twelve is gone and the air is cold and thin and Nine has never loathed their similarities more than he does in those few seconds.

#numbers prompt #twelve #nine #lisa mashima #zankyou no terror #terror in resonance #fic #scurwrites

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scurwrites · 9 years

Note

co-stars au kaneki and sasaki

.13 co-stars au – Tokyo Ghoul, re

Sasaki Haise can’t stand it—he clutches his head, trembling, because he can hear his voice and it rasps in his ear—accept me, accept me, accept me—and every time he closes his eyes, the voice gets louder and louder until it’s white noise, a scratching of nails down a chalkboard, a hammer meeting temperate metal, and just when Sasaki thinks he can uncurl himself, he is back at his ear and—

“Okay, Ken, back off,” Sasaki twitches, breaking character, and immediately the director is poking his head out from the behind the white screen and scowling at him. “Short break!”

Ken is frowning rather abashedly, scratching the back of his head. He backs off immediately and this timid Kaneki is so starkly different than the bloody psychopath Sasaki watches that he cannot believe how much of a great actor Ken Kaneki truly is. “Um, sorry. I didn’t—if I made you uncomfortable, I wasn’t trying to—!”

“The whole fucking point is to make him uncomfortable—you’re in his head!” Nishiki shouts from across the studio, sipping pretentiously on some Jamba Juice concoction. Ken winces, nodding. “C’mon, Ken, move it, we gotta’ tight schedule!”

Ken turns back to Sasaki, who is dusting off his CCG costume coat with an unusual frown on his face. It wasn’t like the two didn’t spend enough time together backstage to not be friends—they were on pretty friendly terms, and the fact that they looked alike had quickly become no issue over the weeks—but Ken guesses that hovering over his shoulder like that, pulling on his best ‘i-am-mentally-unstable-let-me-eat-you-from-the-inside-out-literally’ persona can make any person uncomfortable when it’s being shot for the twentieth time.

“Maybe we should switch, not like anyone would notice,” Sasaki says, wearily.

“I would!” Tsukiyama muffles out from behind the white screen. “Ken, I would! KEN! KANEKI!”

Sasaki smiles, ignoring Touka’s hissing shut up, you fucking disgrace in favor of looking at Ken. “He sure likes you.”

Ken just pulls the long strands of his white hair down his face and groans.

#scurwrites #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul re #sasaki haise #ken kaneki #tsukiyama shuu #kirishima touka #numbers prompt

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scurwrites · 9 years

Note

37. meeting in prison au?

.37 meeting in prison au – zankyou no terror

Note: I’ve been wanting to write a fic for this show and since the ask had no specific show/pairing, I decided to use it to my advantage. This is canon-verse since it does not necessarily stray into au territory. It takes place a few years after the events of the anime.

Lisa curls up in the corner of the prison cell, burying her face in her knees, wanting nothing more than to shut her eyes and pretend this is not happening—this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening. But it is happening because Lisa has never been strong-willed or lucky. She’s weak and always hides within the bigger shadow, curling into herself the most she can without disappearing completely. Lisa is crippled in her self, caged within the range of her own mind, and Twelve’s absence is like an added gap in her heart—her mind, her soul, because he gave her courage, ambition.

He gave her a platform to stand on.

And, for a while, in her grief of his death, she had mourned silently and absently—going to school, but not aware of her surroundings; doing her work, and being surprised at her good marks; graduating, and letting the flash photography gently blot out the reality she has to live with now.

This is how it all begins, six years later as she had been walking to her university classes. She needs to take difficult classes for a difficult major—computer science, inspired by Nine’s inspiring script-writing, his hacking, his everything when it came to electronics and the net. It reminds Lisa of them and when they had been a group, when they had accepted her—however briefly—into their dynamic. It was a time when she had something, friends and people who accepted her—and she wants that again even if it means hunching over difficult math problems, scripts, HTML coding, algorithms, and web development ‘til she nearly cries because it’s so, so, so hard.

She’s not special at what she does; she passes as average, adequate, never inspiring like Nine or shining like Twelve; overlooked by professors but always with decent marks.

She cannot brag over anything.

She never can.

The fact that she created that key generator for a friend counts as nothing; it’s nothing her other classmates can’t create. It’s not a difficult program when you dig into the nitty-gritty of it, when one bothers to flip open a Dummy’s Guide To book and follow instructions. Yet it is her fault—criminal accomplice, they say; guilty, they decide; two years in country prison on the grounds of cybercrime, they rule; and all she can do is stare, stare, stare and slide down the wall in the bathroom stall when she is alone because this is not, not not how her life is supposed to go.

It cannot end before it even began; it cannot end again, not in this way, in such a conscious way.

Why couldn’t this have happened when she was together with Nine and Twelve, she thinks ruefully after the ruling. Why could it not have been then, when their imprisonment would have meant they would live; trapped, but breathing?

Prison proves to be unrelenting for Lisa. They do not treat her kindly, not even when she does everything they ask and lets not a groan be heard. The guards are merciless and the inmates inside are worse, coercing her into giving them her meals, the few things she was allowed to bring into the correction centre, her voice. They taunt her and it reminds her of high school except she does not have Twelve to disrupt them, she only has the four walls of her cell at the end of the day.

It goes on like this for three months, and then an accident occurs: Lisa is caught at a wrong place, wrong time, just at the cusp of a prison riot, and she is shoved against a wall and her head hits the metal bars harder than she believes. There’s blood and screaming and a stampede of footfalls but Lisa is left gazing at her bloody prints blankly because they remind her of Twelve and how his blood pooled beneath him that day long, long, long ago and she has this intense urge to cry—no, bawl because it wasn’t fair, they took him—took Twelve and Nine—away from her, her two boys, the only people who mattered to her in such a crucial moment in her life, and now she is alone and here she is bleeding on the wall and wishing it all would just go away, go away, GO AWAY—

She wakes up in the infirmary to a kindly middle-aged nurse who talks to her slowly, has her follow a pen-light a few times, and tells her if she feels nauseous, dizzy, hard of breathing?

“I’m tired,” Lisa tells her quietly.

“Of course, it’s been a rough day for you,” the nurse sympathizes, but Lisa just rests back on the gurney and closes her eyes. She is woken up three hours later and three hours after that and so on until the next afternoon, when the nurse deems it safe for her to return to her cell and resume her sentence.

No one notices.

One day she is gone, another day she is there.

It’s worse than high school, Lisa decides when she stands in line for lunch, because at least in high school they called roster every single day and here in prison, she is only a number on a sheet in a file in a database.

Lisa’s cellmates are gone when she returns to her cell midday. But this is not unusual: Lisa is always back midday, before their recess is called to a close. But when the cell doors slide to a bolt and they are still not back, then Lisa worries because she doesn’t think she can get along with new cellmates. These two don’t antagonize her, they barely recognize her, and Lisa fears a breakage in this system that has, so far, worked in her favor despite all the turmoil.

She has her knees drawn up to her chest when there’s a bang on her cell bars. She curls into herself a little more and dares to glance up at the guard tapping on her cell—then her lungs feel like they’re being crushed between two desperate fists, because she cannot breathe, only stare at the familiar fox grin that shines out underneath the guards hat, dancing gray eyes that bore into her own with a newfound maturity, a unshakeable simplicity; adult, she thinks dumbly, because he no longer a child and she is no longer a girl.

Adult, the word echoes, but what she says instead is, “Twelve.”

“Mashima, Lisa?” He grins, poking his hat up with his index finger—careless in the way she remembers, his black uniform spotless—no, bloodless because he is not lying on a pool of his own blood, he is breathing, living, here with her and she wants to scream but also sob so she stays quiet and stares in awe. “Congratulations!” He announces, cheerily. “You are hereby released from prison! Please follow me so we can finalize your release forms!”

She wonders, just wonders, if she will ever, ever shine in places other than between them and finds she doesn’t care as the cell doors slide open, Twelve’s grin as bright as midday sunlight.

#zankyou no terror #lisa mashima #twelve #scurwrites #terror in resonance #numbers prompt

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