Tag: soul eater

writing more of the weapon!Wes AU and felt like sharing an excerpt bc I like this scene

The farming books he had checked out only reiterated what
the librarian had told him before. He wasn’t even a real weapon, but instead a
farming tool. The blade from his dream the night before (but it wasn’t a dream) was a shiny and long,
with a zig-zag pattern going down the length of it. Sure, he hadn’t really
gotten to see it for very long, but it definitely still looked intimidating,
especially since it was coming out of a human body. Wes tried to imagine
telling his parents that it wasn’t harmful and couldn’t see that conversation
going very well. The large slash going through his duvet was as telling as it
was damning. What was he going to do?

Wes put his head in his hands. He was dead meat.

He probably would have continued sitting like that, elbow
deep in farming books having an existential crisis, but a small black booklet
near the bottom of his stack caught eye. He could only see a corner of the thin
softcover, and found with interest that instead of having a picture of wheat
fields or tractors, the front cover had a skull on it. Wes held tightly to the
top of his precarious book stack and slid the booklet out from the bottom, his
attention briefly caught.

It was a book about the Grim Reaper. The personification of
death that he would sometimes see in cartoons before his parents flipped the
station to something educational.

Wes hesitated for a moment before opening the book. He
flipped through the pages, his chest feeling tighter and tighter the more he
saw. The book was mostly pictures, all with gruesome scenes of torture and
pain. Men on a battlefield crying over their fallen brothers, the ground
streaked with blood and the sky smudged with smoke. People in hospitals,
covered in sores and thin as skeletons, clinging to their last breaths. Car
accidents. Ships sinking. Bombs exploding. People dying. And all the pictures
had one thing in common.

A shadowed figure, only shown in silhouette, carrying a
large scythe.

Death.

Wes closed the book carefully, decidedly done with research
for the day.

SoMa Week 2018

Day 5: Touch

my procrastinating ass didn’t finish a damn thing for SoMa week, but luckily past-me had a wip serendipitously titled “touch” so here we are! apologies for this being a day late and super short

They rarely touched each other.

It wasn’t something they ever spoke of, it just was. After that first handshake, that
introduction of one soul to another, their bodies remained firmly separate from
one another. Maka was never really sure why,
but she knew that every time her shoulder bumped his while they walked side
by side in the hall, her first instinct was to retract, to apologize, to
pretend it didn’t happen. No matter how innocuous the contact was, the second
they touched they became opposing magnets, flinging themselves in opposite
directions.

After all, she was a girl and Soul was a boy. It shouldn’t
have mattered, and maybe it didn’t, but the difference between them was there,
and so was the nervousness that came with being around any boy at age twelve. She
wanted to partner with him, but she didn’t quite know what to make of him yet
either. Part of Maka always assumed that whey they had gotten used to each
other more, they’d fall into a routine, become more comfortable like their
peers did with their partners.

But it never seemed to happen that way. Being partnered with
Soul, living with him, spending all her time with him, couldn’t seem to bridge
the physical gap between them.

All of that seemed so stupid now, with Soul lying in front
of her, not moving, not breathing, just sopping wet and freezing cold and very,
very still. Tremors shook her body as she watched the paramedic administer CPR,
fingers locking and pressing to his chest as he measured out forged heartbeats
for Soul under the pressure of his palms. Steady fingers tilted Soul’s head
back, a taut mouth pressed itself to Soul’s and breathed in—one, two—and again—one, two. Maka watched numbly as Soul’s body was willed back to
life by the hands of another, and when he took his first breath on his own, the
invisible walls around her crumbled.

He rose to his elbows for a moment, swaying all the while as
he searched for her, and Maka dropped to her knees at his side. She couldn’t
hear over the pounding of blood in her ears, but she could feel her mouth
moving, forming the words “You’re okay, you’re okay” like a prayer, broken and
desperate. She couldn’t be sure if she was trying to comfort Soul or herself. He
couldn’t stay sitting up for long, his head too heavy and his body too weak,
but Maka’s shaking hands caught his head before it could settle back to the
ground. She pulled him towards her lap, cradling his head on the tops of her
thighs while her hands acquainted themselves with his hair, his forehead, his
cheeks.

Brushing his bangs away from his clammy face, she smiled
down at him. The mist in her eyes blurred her vision, but she could still make
out Soul lifting his hand from the ground and placing it over her own, where it
rested on his cheek. His skin was still cold and damp, but that wasn’t her
reason for squeezing her eyes shut and letting fat tears rolls down them,
dripping down her jaw and onto his face. Soul was alive and his hand softly patting at her own just confirmed
it.  He almost died today. He did die today. She struggled to pull in
another shuddering breath, but the thought of it crippled her.

“S’okay,” he croaked, his voice whisper-soft. He wove his
fingers together with hers. This wasn’t normal for them, this contact, this
closeness. But Maka could feel soft patter of his pulse where their wrists
connected, and she knew without a doubt she was never letting go.