the best of soul eater

Before I was a dumb Zelda fanartist I was a dumb Soul Eater fanartist and seeing Soul Eater stuff on my dashboard made me nostalgic, so here’s some Maka fanart! Even if it’s been years since I’ve left the Soul Eater fandom/series and have moved on to better things, I still have a soft spot for this kid.

NOT LOVERS (11)

i owe @chaoticlivi and @skadventuretime my life. ty, betababes ♥

i tried okay. hrrgh. /throws update into the void

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PART 11

MAKA

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She’s calling it spring cleaning, but it’s still not enough to motivate Soul out of bed.

But they have company coming, for goodness’ sake, and if there’s one thing her mama had instilled in her as a child, it was to project competence, despite everything else - a baby on the way, her husband’s infidelity, a crumbling marriage - and if Maka is anything, she is certainly her mother’s daughter. And goddammit, she can get her apartment looking spotless, with or without her lazy, no-good, tall-and-actually-quite-good-at-dusting-the-ceiling-fan roommate.

With her hair tied up in twintails, Maka shamelessly revs up the vacuum and makes her rounds up and down the hall. She knocks her knuckles against Soul’s bedroom door on each pass, just for good measure. His resulting groan is barely muted beneath the hum of their decrepit vacuum.

It’s not that they live surrounded by filth by any means, but the apartment is certainly lived in, and Maka works long hours and Soul overnight, so sometimes routine cleaning doesn’t get done. Dishes are often washed, and they make trips to the laundromat together, but things like dusting and cleaning the bathroom sink’s drain and vacuuming, apparently, sometimes get overlooked. It’s hard, working up the energy to clean by herself, while thinking about Soul, plucking away at his keyboard, looking ridiculously moody and handsome elsewhere. And if she’s not the one putting in the elbow grease and scrubbing down the fridge, well, Soul’s certainly not about to do it. His knees crack and he groans everytime he has to kneel down, and he’s only in his 20s.

She makes a mental note to get on him about that. He’s too young to be falling apart. Bad posture is tearing her newly minted maybe-boyfriend apart, and they haven’t even gotten to second base yet. It’s unfair, thinking about it; those pretty hands of his are distracting on even a good day, and yet the wannabe-geezer still manages to be both the most attractive man she’s ever seen and a creaky bag of bones in the same breath.

read: ffn or ao3!

In The Silence I Hear You

Resbang 2016

CLICK FOR ART BY @amberlehcar (warning: spoilers for chapter six!) 

CLICK FOR ART BY @eerna 

It’s been so long since Soul could hear his own music. Even longer since he cared, after what music did to Wes and his family. But when his childhood friend Maka returns like a tempest to Death City and demands he accompany her in an upcoming competition, Soul must decide whether the pain of reclaiming his sound is worth the rush of playing with her again. A Your Lie in April AU.

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, major character death, some gore, some suicidal ideation

This entire project would be utter garbage without my betas the #Jortsquad. @zxanthe @silly-twin-stars @makapedia @fabulousanima @sojustifiable @professor-maka @marshofsleep and @adulterclavis, thank you, thank you. From denim jackets and :leggy: to music recs and late night conversations that have actually changed my life, you guys have helped me grow as both a writer and a person, and I will be forever grateful. I cannot thank you enough for your wit, friendship, memes, and incredible ability to put up with my near-constant stream of puns. Stay gold, ponyboys.

Also, huge thanks and love to both of my artists! Holy shit did they outdo themselves. Jo’s digital art pretty much made me weep, and listening to Amber’s voice acting scene was a little like bliss. I could not have wished for better partners, and I’m so glad they both could join me on this crazy journey. Many hugs and yelly tags to each of them.

Enjoy!


Darkness coats the inside of his eyes, slithers down his throat, runs tar-like through his veins. He can hear it catching up to him, long, crackling, inexorable footsteps beating a measured counterpoint to his frantic heart. Small hands materialize from the shadows to grope at his face and shove fingers down his throat, choking him with the taste of ash and dust.

Sprint. Jump. Duck. The world is reduced to spurts of action as his thoughts scatter like birds from a field, even as the ear-wrenching sound of squealing wires gets louder behind him. Terror propels him through rotting skeletons and over piles of dead crows, every instinct screaming that if he doesn’t move faster, he’ll meet a fate far worse than death.

He’s always too late.

Bursting from a thicket with bleeding clefs for leaves, Soul runs to the edge of a sheer cliff, small rocks skittering into the inky abyss below. The world goes quiet, the kind of sharp silence after a gunshot, and then he’s being strangled by hands with piano keys for fingers, black sludge leaking through the spaces between them.

“Why?” the voice whispers hoarsely, as it always does. “Why me, but not you?”

Scrabbling in vain against the ivory hands that hold him suspended, Soul cries, “I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Despair shoves the terror out of his system and he goes limp in the creature’s grip, will to fight back trickling away at the sudden realization of who it is that hunts him so methodically.

“You abandoned us,” it rasps, carrying Soul to the edge of the cliff.

The world yawns below him as he’s dangled over the cliff face, panic coursing through him while he squirms and twists so he can make one last plea. “I didn’t mean to! Wes, please!”

Maggots skitter through the exposed bones of Wes’s cheeks, empty sockets leering where blue eyes once regarded him so gently. Jutting between the tendons in his neck is a violin bow, the one pictured in the papers on the night he won the Death City Symphony Competition, and Soul has to swallow another sob because that was the photo they used in his obituary, too.

Flies buzz around his face as Wes says, “Sorry isn’t good enough,” and drops him.

All Soul can hear is the low growling roar of a huge waterfall, and suddenly he’s plunged underwater, choking as liquid pours into his lungs. Except it isn’t water, not really, and it’s only with his last bit of consciousness that he realizes he’s swimming in blood as black as the dark side of the moon.

Read the rest on AO3 / FFN