The end of the world lies not in fire and brimstone, Soul
thinks, but in the wet bloody intricacies of the human heart. Across from him
is Maka, and like this she’s all but a stranger to him. Her eyes are wrong, one
pupil blown wide enough that it turns her eye into a black hole and the other
barely a pinprick in the vast foresty green of her iris.
“Snap out of it!” Soul calls. The wind whips his voice away
and she doesn’t respond. He waves his arms. “You’re stronger than this! Maka! C’mon,
She walks like a robot, the metronomic crunch of her boots
against the gravel making the awful urgency in Soul’s chest swell painfully
with every one of her steps. The night wind is cool and strong and it whips her
pigtails into crazy ribbons, smearing them across her glassy eyes, strands of
hair catching in her half-open mouth. The distance between her body and the
edge of the roof is closing fast, and the manacle of magic chaining Soul to the
air conditioning unit sears against his wrist.
“MAKA!” he yells, abandoning all pretense and lunging
forward as far as the chain will allow. His straining fingers just manage to
graze the fabric of her sleeve and then she walks right past him, inexorably
forward towards her doom.
“DAMN YOU!” he cries, although if it’s addressed to the
witch or Maka or his own stupidity letting himself get caught like this is
unclear. He struggles, trying in vain to transform, to break free, to do something that’s not watching the
most important person in his life topple to her death like a stupid wind-up
doll. Far away someone is yelling and someone else is laughing and Maka stops
at the edge of the roof and raises her arms like a conductor about to begin a
Then several things happen at once.
The laughter stops, the wind picks up, and Soul finds
himself running forward faster than he’s ever run in his life. Ahead of him,
Maka begins to topple forwards, looking so small and birdlike silhouetted in
the too-bright moonlight. Her shrill shriek comes a heartbeat later and Soul
doesn’t think twice before launching himself across the remaining distance and
into his meister, pulling her tightly against his body. When his back hits the
ground the wind is knocked out of him and he nearly blacks out, eyelids
fluttering, darkness swimming across his eyelids, the world rocking back and
forth in his head. After a time he becomes aware that someone is shaking him,
calling his name in tones that sound increasingly distressed. It’s not very
pleasant and he raises his hand to ward off his attacker, and then his vision
clears to reveal a teary-eyed Maka, pupils restored to their proper size. Without
thinking, he cups her cheek and grins at her.
“Oh my God, Soul, are you okay, I’m so sorry, I – I don’t
know what happened, I’m –“
“Hush,” he says. Her nose is all red and she’s gasping for
breath and it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull her down and kiss
her, hard, because she’s alive and he’s alive and they’re both okay and he
saved her. The relief wells up in his heart and his other hand scrabbles
against her back, pulls her close, and Maka makes a noise in his mouth and
suddenly he’s looking up at the dryly amused face of Professor Stein with Death
Scythe hissing on his shoulder.
“I think it’s time to go home,” says Stein above Spirit’s
shouted curses. Soul exchanges a glance with Maka and heartily agrees.
Hi! I love you blog and I think it's amazing, your fics are really good too!!💚💚💚 could you plz write an emeto fic for me?? You said that you write for soul eater and so I thought you could write (only if you want) a car sick soul, maka notices like straight away that something is weird but soul is in complete denial. This leads to soul finally unable to hold out any longer and puking all over the floor and his shoes in the car?? (Ignore this prompt if you want to)
Omg thank you for requesting Soul Eater! I haven’t written for it in forever and I feel so nostalgic.
For Sick Days! 23: Not the Norm.
“Are you feeling okay, Soul?” Maka asks, frowning. She reaches over and attempts to brush his snowy white bangs out of his eyes so she can get a better look at his face, but Soul swats her hand away. “I was expecting you to be going on about how ‘cool’ this car is, but you’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m fine!” Soul snaps back, his ruby red eyes flashing in annoyance. “It’s cool to be quiet, you know. Not all of us need to be obnoxious chatterboxes all the time.”
Maka folds her arms across her chest and huffs angrily at the obvious dig, brushing an ash-blonde pigtail out of her face. Soul might be acting exceptionally rude, but it’s obvious that something is wrong. His skin is deathly white, somehow even paler than usual, he keeps swallowing, and he seems uncomfortable in general. Maka can’t quite put her finger on it, but something definitely seems off.
They don’t usually take cars when they go places; Soul’s motorcycle is their preferred mode of transportation. But Lord Death had insisted that a car take them for this mission-apparently, Soul’s motorcycle would be way too inconspicuous. Maka hadn’t really thought about it too much at the time, but Soul had definitely resisted the idea. He hadn’t argued much with Lord Death, just a few token requests to use his motorcycle instead. Throughout the entire argument, Maka had been able to tell that Soul was been tense, and there was a certain desperation in his eyes.
In the end, Soul had agreed to take the car and Maka had pushed the entire scene out of her mind. She had been too busy preparing for their latest mission to really give it much thought. Now, looking at Soul, who is clearly not well, Maka wishes that she hadn’t let it slip.
As the car winds through the trees and takes several more sharp turns, Soul’s already ghostly white face somehow pales even further. Before Maka can ask if he’s okay again, he raises his hand to his mouth to stifle a belch. The gesture is only partially successful, and Maka’s eyes widen slightly at the noise, tendrils of suspicion forming in her mind.
“Soul, are you-”
“Sh-shut up!” he growls. The rough tone triggers another burp in his throat, too quick to be hidden this time. Maka is about to open her mouth and demand to know if he’s okay when his stomach gives an audible gurgle. It’s the only warning either of them get before Soul is lurching forward with a gag, vomit spilling over his fingers and decorating his shoes. Another retch brings up more puke, which splashes on to the car’s immaculate carpet.
Wincing in sympathy, Maka rubs his back and makes soothing murmuring noises. The lack of heat coming off his skin confirms Maka’s suspicions: he’s carsick. No wonder he always insists on taking his motorcycle everywhere.
Soul dry heaves for a few more minutes before sitting back and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes are bloodshot, but there’s a little more color in his face now. “Sorry,” he croaks, blushing a little. “That wasn’t cool.”
“It’s fine,” Maka reassures him, patting his shoulder gently. She motions for the driver and tells him to pull over at the next gas station so they can clean up the damage. “Hey, Soul?”
He glances over at her, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Next time, please just tell me that you’re not feeling well-at least for the sake of the car.”
<b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b>Expectation:</b> having kids named after anime/book characters<p/><b>Reality:</b> being single for the rest of my life for spending too much time on anime/books, reading fanfics and wanting to marry anime/book characters<p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p>