#grigori wings
Text
hollow moon
A gift fic for @blackbloodteeth, written for the Grigori Wings server Valentine's Day fic exchange event! (a few days after the posting date, buuuut better late than never!) This one is a horror? romance? horror-romance??? 5k words of Soul Evans slowly turning into a werewolf and generally having the worst time ever 🐺 You can read all the lycanthropic-black-blooded-body horror goodness below, or on Ao3.
thank you to @amberlehcar for hosting the event, and to @moriohpissky for the beta-read!
Rating: M (for aforementioned blood and body horror)
Word count: a little less than 5k; written in second-person perspective and told in a non-linear narrative format
Enjoy!
It's there one moment, and the next, it's gone - winked out of existence in the blink of an eye.
‘What the hell is a rabbit doing in my bathroom?!’
You stand in the doorway, mouth hanging open and eyes glued to the spot where it'd been– it had only been a glimpse, but it was a rabbit, you're absolutely sure– long, twitching ears, soft, sand-colored fur, a prim, pink little nose.
Several long, incredulous moments of stillness pass, the faint electrical buzz of the bathroom fan the only sound permeating the silence. The rabbit fails to re-appear, so the shock of seeing it starts to slowly seep from your psyche.
And probably, you hadn't even seen it at all.
Probably, you'd just imagined it.
Probably, you're just tired and need sleep.
So you step into the bathroom with a shake of your head and an exasperated sigh, even as a creeping feeling of unease crawls up the back of your neck; you try to will it away by shifting your focus to your surroundings, by grounding yourself in the present moment one sensation at a time.
The cold tile beneath your bare feet.
The harsh, flickering yellow light overhead, how it casts the small room into severe shadow.
The familiar feeling of worn plastic between your fingers as you reach for your toothbrush.
Your own haggard reflection staring back at you, the darkness within your eyes rivaling the darkness staining the sallow skin below them.
Slowly, your heart rate returns to normal; slowly, it resumes its steady rhythm within your chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you apply toothpaste to brush bristles.
You just need a good night's sleep.
Your eyelids start to droop, the pull of gravity and the allure of sweet slumber an irresistible siren song. You try to keep your focus trained upon the reflected image of your face, on the red of your eyes and the pale mess of your hair, on the mechanical back-and-forth motions of brushing your teeth.
But you're just… so tired.
Your eyes slide shut and your grip on the toothbrush falters despite your best efforts, and you slip into blissful unconsciousness.
But only for a moment.
There is the sound of plastic clattering loudly against the porcelain and a splash, and your eyes snap open. You're disoriented, dizzy from the lull of sleep; you stumble forward and grasp at the sides of the sink to steady yourself. Your fingers are sluggish and heavy as they fumble for the fallen toothbrush, as they slosh around in the tepid sink water to fish it out.
Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you detect a flicker of–
Movement?
You blink your eyes back up to the mirror and–
The rabbit.
Sitting in the middle of the tiled floor, its reflection staring back at you, green eyes unblinking and button nose twitching.
Its long ears held tall and upright, insides pink and lined with feathery soft fuzz.
Its fur the color of desert sand, the color of a sun-drenched afternoon.
It's hot blood coursing through its veins, tiny heart pumping the viscous liquid with a steady drone of thump-thumps, and your own ears perk as they strain to listen for the faint heartbeat with the precision of a hunter.
A predator.
Your teeth hurt.
An ache blooms deep within them, starting at the base, in your gums, and burning all the way down to the very tips of your sharp fangs.
And you want to bite.
The rabbit tilts its head, its endlessly green eyes shining with innocence as it regards you.
If you didn't know any better, you'd swear it was something like… like trust shining up at you in those eyes.
Your mouth starts to water.
Before you know it, you're stepping forward, inclining your body towards your prey, muscles tensing and–
Wait.
What are you doing? You don't eat rabbits.
This is absurd, this rabbit isn't even real, it's just a figment of your imagination, a hallucination–
You pull away, start to turn around and–
It isn't your own face staring back at you in the mirror.
It's a beast, a great white wolf with pale, shaggy fur cascading down over a long, well-muscled neck, with tall, pointed ears and an elongated snout, with blood-red eyes and a gaping maw full of razor sharp teeth.
You stumble and stagger backward, bringing your hands up to your face in disbelief, only to discover they're covered in fine white fur and tipped with long black claws.
‘What is this what is happening this can't be real I'm not a–’
The rabbit squeaks in alarm.
The sound reverberates in your ears and refocuses your attention, starts you salivating all over again. You close your eyes and inhale and–
You can smell it now.
The metallic scent of blood, flowing hot and thick in the little creature's veins.
And that's when you realize– you're hungry.
You're starving.
You spring forward, bounding over the tile floor to close in on your prey.
You unhinge your jaws with a snarl, and in the seconds before they meet their mark, time seems to slow, and that's when you see it.
The fear in the rabbit's eyes, the very moment in which trust transforms into terror.
Its ears droop and its green eyes grow wide, it lets out a horrible screech, a shrill scream as your teeth sink into its flesh.
It thrashes in your jaws, kicks its tiny little legs helplessly, and the futile attempt at escape sends a rush coursing through every cell in your body. You bite down harder, hear a crunch and the sinewy snap of tendons breaking, and–
“Soul…”
Its–
It can't be.
Maka.
Its the voice of your meister, feeble and frail and fraught with despair, and it's coming from–
You swivel around to face the mirror and–
You scream.
It isn't a rabbit hanging from between your fangs.
It's Maka.
It's Maka.
It's Maka, her body limp and lifeless, dangling from your jaws like a great rag doll. Her head lolls heavily with each movement of your body, and when her face rolls into view, those impossibly green eyes of hers are dull, the light in them utterly extinguished.
You scream.
You drop your meister’s body from your mouth; she hits the tile with a heavy thud, and you scream.
You scream and you scream, every fiber of your being horrified, until your throat feels raw and your vocal cords give out.
It isn't until you're completely out of breath, body convulsing uncontrollably and hands fisting in the bedsheets, that you realize you've woken up.
—
You remember so little from that night.
It’s a black hole in your memory, a gaping stretch of empty abyss with only shadowy fragments of recollection, only flickers here and there of anything concrete. When you try to focus on any one fleeting glimpse of memory for too long, pain throbs in your temples, razor sharp and digging deep into your skull.
You remember a church. You remember streams of crimson ooze dripping from the moon, branding the night sky as if it had been slashed open. You remember the stench of death and you remember blood.
Black blood.
Blood blacker than the inky darkness of the night, blood blacker and thicker than anything you’d seen before in your life.
Black, black, so much black, sticking to your shoes and staining your fingers. Stinging the insides of your nostrils with its potent, metallic smell.
And a flash of pink.
Pink fur and long, glistening fangs, a flash of murderous gray eyes gleaming in the velvet darkness. The shiver of terror that trickled along the resonance link you’d shared with your meister, how her courage and her stubborn resolve had drained away into utter desperation.
The solid weight of the doors, the futile sound of Maka’s back repeatedly slamming against their heft.
The glint of long, black-blood stained claws hovering in the air before you.
And a choice. A choice that wasn’t really a choice - you didn’t even think twice about what you were about to do.
Sudden, impossibly fast movement as those horrid, needle-like claws finally strike, and then–
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Followed by blackness, emptiness.
And one final, enduring thought ringing in your fleeting consciousness:
‘Maka… run.’
—
‘Run.’
A single command, repeating over and over again in your head.
Cool, desert night air on your face, hard, unforgiving ground beneath your feet. Wind rushing at your back.
And one directive echoing in your mind above all else.
‘Run.’
‘Run, to the very ends of the earth, if I must.’
You do not think of the look on her face– not the way her eyes had widened or the way her soul wavelength had spasmed in terror. Not the way she’d screamed your name, her voice shattered, utterly broken.
You don’t think about how you could feel it– the very moment you sensed it in her soul, the moment you’d realized– she was afraid of you.
You don’t think about how powerless you’d felt, how the power coursing through your body was not the kind you’d known all these years. You don’t think about her hand grasped within your own, how small and insignificant it had felt as you’d changed– not into the cold, heavy steel that you know so well, but into something else entirely.
You do not think of these things, because all you can think about is how close you had come to doing the unthinkable.
Hurting your meister.
The one person you’d sworn to protect at all costs, even if it would mean your own oblivion.
How claws had sprouted from your fingernails as your hand wrapped around her skinny, bony wrist, how you’d tried to call out her name but the only sound that had come out was a vicious snarl.
How the seams on that jacket of yours, the yellow-and-black one you’re so fond of, ripped and popped as your body transformed, how you could hear the fabric tear as it came apart.
How your mouth had watered when you looked down and saw how small she was, how you’d towered over her and you could hear her heartbeat and smell the sweat on her skin as you’d contemplated how easy it would be to tear into her soft, warm flesh.
You don’t think about how close you’d come to giving in to that hunger, that urge to devour and consume that which you hold most dear. You don’t think about whether these thoughts, these urges, are your own, or whether they belong to someone–something–else entirely.
‘Run.’
All that matters now is that you run, as far as possible. Put as much distance between you, whatever it is you’re becoming, and her as possible.
Even if it means you never see her again.
—
“I’ve been having strange dreams,” you’d said.
You’d been sitting on an examination table, or maybe it was an office chair–you’d just woken up, and you’d been in the infirmary for so long the days, weeks, nights, had all begun to blend together, and the dreams made it even harder for you to tell the waking hours from the sleeping hours, so who cares whether it was an exam table or a blasted rolly chair.
“Oh dear,” the nurse had said, in that honeyed tone of voice that never quite manages to sound genuine. The voice that makes your skin crawl. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She presses a stethoscope, cold and metal and sterile, against your bare chest, against the long, patchwork scar, still pink and puckering at the edges, that now runs like a fissure across your skin. After a pause, she says, in a nauseatingly sweet voice:
“What kind of dreams?”
The memory of the rabbit rushes to the forefront of your mind–visceral and vivid in its intensity. It’s terrible, blood-curdling scream rings in your ears, the phantom sensation of tender flesh fills your mouth, the way it had felt as your teeth sank into its helpless little body.
And then, the eyes of your meister–that damn girl of yours–dull and lifeless in the mirror. The broken way she’d sobbed your name with her very last breath.
Bile rises in your throat as your tongue turns to lead. You can’t bear to even think it, to re-visit the images from the dreams in your mind, let alone speak them aloud.
For what if doing so only serves to make them more real?
“Soul?”
The nurse says your name, and it pulls you out of your own head.
“N-nightmares,” you manage to grit out. Your voice is a bitter, hollow thing, spat between your teeth as if the words tasted vile on your tongue. “Nightmares of… of blood and darkness and all that junk. Standard bad dream stuff.”
She gives you a serene smile, but it only manages to deepen your unease. She removes the stethoscope from your skin, pops the earpieces out and levels you with what you guess is supposed to be a reassuring look.
“It’s perfectly normal to experience some unpleasant dreams after a traumatic encounter,” she tells you, though her voice is careful and guarded. You scoff internally at the use of the word ‘traumatic’.
‘No shit it was a traumatic encounter,’ you think, but you keep the words to yourself.
(You’re a sarcastic little shit, I’m slowly realizing. It’s amusing to say the very least.)
“But the good news is, your physical body is showing some truly remarkable healing progress,” the nurse continues, and for some reason, the phrase ‘physical body’ snags in your mind like a beast in a snare trap. “So if some bad dreams are the worst thing you’re dealing with in recovery, I think you're doing just fine.”
She sends you off, back to your hospital bed with a bottle of sleeping pills and a clean bill of health. When you settle in for the night a few hours later, it doesn’t even occur to you that more sleep probably just means more nightmares, and you take the pills without questioning it.
Three days later, you are discharged from the school infirmary–that girl of yours smiles so big it makes your heart clench in your chest. You really are such a sap for her, aren’t you? She throws you a party and all your little friends show up, and you can’t bear to tell her about the nightmares.
You have that same dream the night you come home, and the night after that. And the night after that.
A week after you arrive home, you’re cleared for field missions, for combat.
And that, my dear boy, is when everything falls apart.
—
You wake up in a patch of scraggy brush, your head pounding and your stomach churning, surrounded by tufts of bone-white fur and no clue how many hours you’d been unconscious.
And hardly any memory from before, from when you were conscious.
You push yourself up with a groan, and your entire body screeches in protest. Your bones creak and your muscles ache with the effort of moving, and your entire being feels wrong; your arms feel like they’ve been forced into too-small shoulder sockets, your knee joints feel like they’ve been ripped out and put back into place backwards.
And your head.
The ache in your head is a living thing, the way it writhes and throbs, the way it claws at the insides of your temples and behind your eyes with hot, stabbing pain. It hurts, it hurts, so much so that you’re tempted to split your head open on a nearby rock, just to see if that would hurt less.
But then, that would be merciful, and you’d decided a long time ago that you aren’t worthy of mercy. You’d sealed that fate when you ran away.
You sit up, and there are rivulets of dried blood crusted on your arms and also, you slowly realize, on your face–though whether it’s your blood, or something else’s blood, you don’t know.
Upon closer examination, you discover that the crusted old blood is a deep shade of crimson.
Not yours.
I try to tell you that it doesn't have to be like this– that there is another way. You don't have to wake up in the haze of shrouded memories, with no recollection of events prior. You don't have to wake up feeling like a foreigner in your own body, like you're a slave to forces you don't understand. I keep trying to tell you– you can have power, Soul. Power beyond your wildest dreams.
But you won't listen to me. You never do.
If you did, though– oh, it would be glorious. My power, combined with that weapon blood of yours– it would be truly magnificent. You wouldn't have to run anymore, wouldn't have to eke out this miserable existence in the barren wilderness. You wouldn't have to live in fear–of yourself or anyone else.
And you'd be able to protect her, too– that green-eyed girl.
Maka.
Yes, I know you remember her name. It's about the only morsel of knowledge you've held onto from your previous life, though I can't honestly fathom why. If it weren't for her, and your borderline suicidal obsession with protecting her, you wouldn't even be in this mess in the first place.
Perhaps you grow tired of my monologuing, or perhaps there's another catalyst, because finally, you push yourself to your feet. You're naked, every inch of your skin exposed to the elements, to the harsh desert scrubland, but this fact stopped bothering you a long time ago. After so many months out here in the arid mountains, the wildlife have accepted you as one of their own– the creatures either squeal and flee from you in terror, or pay you no mind, depending on their relative size and rank in the food chain.
You strain your ears and concentrate; after a moment, you hear it– the babble of a brook, the rush of moving water. It's the little creek that runs nearby, and while it isn't much, it'll be enough to cleanse your aching body of the dirt and grime, of the crusted blood upon your skin. You set off into the darkening twilight in the direction of the noise.
You make it perhaps a few yards before a horrible pain seizes you in the pit of your stomach. It's a new pain, so sudden and severe that you double over. You fall to your knees as your body begins to convulse, as your mouth reflexively falls open and you start to heave.
For many long, awful moments, nothing comes up. Nothing expels itself from the depths of your gullet, and it's all you can do to hack and cough and wheeze with each of your body's futile attempts to purge itself of whatever undesirable thing has entered it. Your throat burns and your eyes water and the ache in your stomach steals the very breath from your lungs, the pain is so suffocating. You wonder fleetingly if this is where it all ends.
And then, finally– something long and thin and almost scaly in texture rises up your esophagus and onto your tongue, accompanied by several knobby, fleshy little lumps, covered in fuzz and coated in stomach bile. You grind your fist into the dry earth and spit.
A rat tail and four tiny, undigested little rat feet fall from your mouth.
—-
It's a dark, moonless night, and as you gaze skyward at the impossibly starry heavens, you know the next transformation is near.
You can feel it in your bones–the other presence inside you–clawing its way out, threatening to rip you apart in the process. The bubbling, surging, tearing sensation, and the knowledge that whatever it is you've been turning into, you won't be able to hold it off for much longer.
You crash into a copse of trees–ponderosa pine, if their scent is anything to go by–as you feel the last of your resolve evaporate.
You've held the beast at bay for as long as you possibly can.
And now, it's my turn.
You collapse into a dense carpet of pine needles on the forest floor as a shudder courses through your body. Your muscles ripple and pulse, your skin starts to rearrange itself to make room for your shifting bones, and you groan in utter agony at the sensation. When you un-fist your hands, you watch as fine white fur erupts along your knuckles, as your fingernails lengthen and sharpen into points, into needle-like claws.
And then, a horrible sound– the crrrr-accck! of the bones in your neck as they expand in size, the agonizing creak as your jaws unhinge and elongate, the burning ache of your teeth growing, of additional fangs erupting from your gums.
With a final, desperate push– a gnash of your teeth and a snarl in your new voice, the swish of a long, bushy tail now protruding from the end of your spine– the transformation is complete.
And with it, your conscious thoughts and human memories fade, replaced by primal animal instinct and a ravenous, all-consuming hunger.
You lift your head, sniff at the crisp, decadent night air tentatively, before throwing your head back with a howl. It’s a long, plangent sound, echoing hauntingly in the vast, lonesome desert.
Your final thought before charging off into the abyssal night is a memory, one as distant as it is achingly familiar – a flash of green eyes.
—-
The moon hangs hollow and lifeless in the sky on the night you finally speak to me.
You say, “What would I have to do?”
It’s the first time you’ve fully acknowledged me in these months that we’ve been together, and you sound more like yourself than I’ve ever heard from you. Your voice is steady, calm, and assured. You don’t stumble over the words.
I don’t have a physical body of my own, but if I did, I would grin–wide and toothy and full.
“Easy,” I reply. “Just let me lead.”
“Let you lead,” you scoff, and I realize I’d missed that snark of yours–had grown quite fond of it in these months I’ve spent with you. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”
“Not at all,” I say, because I have no reason to lie to you. Our relationship may be many things, but I’ve never once lied to you, and I don’t intend to start now. “You haven’t allowed it. You’ve been resisting me at every turn.”
For a long moment, you’re silent. I watch your gaze tilt upward, to the dull yellow glow of the moon. It’s a husk of its former self, an ugly, hollowed out gash in an otherwise velvety black night sky.
“I’ve been afraid to face you,” you confess, but there isn’t the faintest echo of fear in your voice now. “And afraid of what would happen if I stopped fighting you.”
“Ah.” I pause, feeling the need to choose my words carefully. “So you’ve decided that this is a better alternative, then? A lonely life out in the woods, away from all you hold dear?”
You say nothing. Your throat works as you swallow.
“I just didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Soul,” I say. “You don’t think you’re hurting her now?”
Your heart twists inside your chest as that question sinks in, and even if I weren’t deeply ingrained within you, even if I weren’t completely, intrinsically a part of you, I’d be able to feel the impact of those words. The way your face pinches and your eyes fill with moisture, the way your hands curl into fists at your sides.
“Fuck.” Your voice is breathless and exasperated. “Fuck, you’re right. I–” You pause, suck in a deep breath. “I messed up.”
“Afraid of me or not, the simple, undeniable truth is that I am a part of you now. Nothing will change this fact. And the sooner you accept it–the sooner you accept me–the sooner we can put an end to all of this.”
You stand, then, rising from the ground with renewed purpose. Your face hardens with resolve, and you nod solemnly.
“All right,” you announce with something almost like relief in your voice. “I’m ready.”
This time–this time, the transformation is seamless.
You let me in, let my power wash over you and overtake you and–
It’s simply glorious.
How your skin ripples, bare, naked flesh one moment, then thick, beautiful white fur the next. How your ears and tail and claws and teeth burst from your body with an almost practiced ease, how your silhouette changes shape from boy to wolf so effortlessly.
How the howl that looses from your throat is no longer a despondent sound, no longer fraught with despair–but instead, triumph. How this sound is almost jovial, as if you’re howling in celebration.
And when our union is complete, you run. You charge through the night with the boundless elation that self-acceptance brings, the kind of joy that can only come from full, unflinching acceptance of your entire self.
Darkness and all.
—
When I open my eyes, it takes me a minute to realize where I am.
There’s the glare of fluorescent white light above me, the soft rustle of cottony fabric beneath me. The steady beep-beep-beep of an electronic device somewhere next to me, and–
Warmth.
A hand, small and warm and familiar, clasped within my own.
Maka.
“Shhh…” The grip of her hand tightens as her face comes into view. “I’m here, Soul. Right here.”
I don’t realize that I’m saying her name out loud until I’m repeating it, over and over again like a desperate prayer.
Even as I gaze up at her, I can’t quite believe that this is real. That she is real.
The overhead lights cast a glowing halo around her flaxen head; her eyes are puffy and red, laden with dark circles underneath, and her lower lip quivers undeniably as she regards me, but it’s her, she’s here, and most importantly, she’s safe.
I reach for her.
“Maka, I–” The words come out broken and ragged, but I have to say this. “Gods, Maka, I’m so–I’m so sorry–”
She shakes her head, squeezes my hand. Leans into my touch when my other palm comes to rest on her cheek.
“No. Don’t,” she says, and fuck, did I miss the sound of her voice. “Don’t start.”
Sniffly and wobbly though her words are, she still manages to lace plenty of warning into the command, and as a result, all the apologies, everything I’d wanted to tell her if I ever saw her again–all of it withers away into nothing.
“I’m just so glad I finally found you.”
I realize all at once, then, that I’m back in the infirmary, laying on a hospital bed, and the rhythmic beeping next to me is the sound of a machine tracking my own erratic heart rate.
“H-How did I… get back–”
“I found you,” Maka repeats, bringing her other hand to rest over where mine still cups her cheek. “About a mile outside of Death City. Unconscious. Dirty. Bleeding from your hands and feet. I had been trying to sense your soul wavelength for so long…” she trails off, and I realize her eyes, those endlessly green eyes that lingered in my memory even when I’d utterly lost myself, are brimming with tears. A single bead of moisture slips from the corner of her eye, and without even thinking, my thumb moves to brush it away.
“You didn’t have to run, Soul.”
There are so many things I could say–so much I want to say, but I just can’t find the words.
That I did it all for her, that all I wanted was to keep her safe. That I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing harm to her. That it didn’t feel fair to expect her to understand what had been happening to me, if I could hardly understand it myself.
Instead, all I manage are two whispered words:
“I’m changed.”
Maka’s eyes soften.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what it means for my future. For us. For our partnership.”
“I don’t either.” Her voice is low as she leans forward, as she moves her hand from atop mine and places it on my chest, right above my heart. Above the scar I now bear on my skin, forever brandished on my body as a stark reminder of the lengths I’m willing to go to for her. “But… we’ll figure it out together. Like we always have.”
She smiles then, and it's like the dawn breaking after a long, impossibly dark night. I feel her soul wavelength reach out to entwine with mine–a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long, one I never thought I’d ever feel again.
And I know in that moment that she’s right.
“Yeah.” I can hear the smile in my own voice as I lean forward, as I press my forehead tenderly against hers. I breathe in her familiar, comforting scent–the scent of home–and it grounds me and soothes me in a way that nothing else can. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll never leave her again, that I’ll be by her side until my dying day. “We sure will.”
#soul eater#soul eater fanfiction#soul eater evans#maka albarn#soma#soul x maka#cherry writes#werewolves#horror writing#horror fiction#lycanthropy#soul eater gift exchange#grigori wings#baby's first horror fic please be gentle
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Kiddos but Amelia took a vacation and now everyone’s out of control
AU where Azrael becomes a kishin and Maia tries to help but joins his emo band instead
#terrible things au#se grim future au#au of the au#maia evans#soul eater#teaaart#azrael#gf azrael#can that be a tag for him? idk lol#I just think it’s neat how their respective madness feeds into the other’s#that would be very bad but#unfortunately for her that’s what Amelia’s for#anyways azrael’s teenage angst is a disaster#oh also Maia’s teeth sharpen the more out of control she is cause I thought it’d be cool#it would also be neat if she could sorta make scythes come out of her back like wings#that was a reference to grigori maka#I’m also pretty sure maka did that at the end of the anime but I don’t remember
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💧😇🩵 an angel
From "Faraway, So Close."
#guardian angel#angel#angelic#passion#unconditonal love#peace#peace be with you#peace on earth#seraphim#cherubim#guardian angels#watchers#grigory#God#god bless#christanity#judaism#muslim#peace to Jerusalem#love one another#forgiveness#help#suicide is not the answer#friendship#stayfarawaysoclose#wings of desire#angels#empathy#love#s i love you
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If Charlie, Vaggie, Wednesday and Enid were in the world of Soul Eater, who would be a weapon and who would be a technician (Master(?))? And in general, what weapons do you think they would be (the 4)?
I'm pretty sure the term is "meister". It's how I've always known it and they're called as such in the wiki.
Anyways!
Wednesday would be a meister and one of the first openly witch students attending the school. Enid would be a weapon, but is so scared and disgusted by the thought of slicing through anything that she has a blunt blade. Because nobody else wants to partner with a witch or a blunt weapon, Wednesday and Enid ended up becoming partners. Enid's weapon form is the saber(?) from the show that Wednesday uses in the final episode.
Charlie would be the Death the Kid equivalent (so I suppose Lucifer would be Death here). Since she's due to take her dad's place soon, she's preparing for it by being a teacher at Death Weapon Meister Academy. She was also the one who made the truce with the witches and ended the practice of eating witch souls to make death scythes like Kid did in the final arc of the manga.
Vaggie would be the newest and final death scythe after the truce with the witches. Her last meister was Lute and she lost her eye during the fight against the witch whose soul she ate. As the last death scythe, she was assigned to Lucifer's heir Charlie right after she graduated.
Vaggie has a grigori soul like Maka and Tsugumi, so she also has wings.
Her weapon form is a trident, with the middle blade resembling her canon spear, while the ones at either side are blade forms of her wings.
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@myimaginationplain @bloodheartz
WELL.
Thanks to @1-800-clouds in the Grigori Wings discord server for these!!!
Now I gotta watch a playthrough to see the full context...
From the wiki and @myimaginationplain's original post.
#soul eater#franken stein#spirit albarn#spiritstein#steinspirit#soul eater monotone princess#monotone princess#spirit x stein#stein x spirit#CrossStitch#stein#spirit#death scythe
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Mercy-Three
*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*
Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Fallen Angel!OC
Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, smut, mythological talk, violence.
Summary: "Blinded by a fear of feeling, these are the kings we chose. Lost and looking for the meaning, I've been searching high and low" It came crashing down on him. This is the story of the highest banished angel from where she came only to find home in the arms of a mortal man. This mortal realizing he'd face Lucifer himself to keep her.
Lethia: Archangelus Oneironaut also known as Archangel of Dream Walking. Across worlds and dimensions, she walks within. Uncovering dangerous secrets, leaving her cast out, isolated- that is until she begins to learn what it means to feel.
Authors Notes: Hope everyone enjoys this chapter!
Tags[OPEN]: @thescarlettvvitch @blackveilomens @crimson-calligraphyx @cookiesupplier @lyschko666 @shilohrosechicken @thebadchic @iknownothingpeople @sammyjoeee @malice-ov-mercy @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @collapsedglasshouses
LETHIA
I sat in the darkness of the old building with a scatter of books in front of me and a face of pure rage. These texts were all wrong, they had to be. There was absolutely no way that Lucifer was the evil that this bible talked about. He never tempted anyone into any sin. He was valued in the Kingdom and so many other angels turned to him in times of despair; me included.
Kicking the bible away with my boot, I turned to the next book and perched it on my lap.
The Book of Enoch.
Watchers. Nephilim. The fall of angels.
All of those words replayed in my brain as I read through the book for what seemed like the third time, searching for an answer I subconsciously knew wasn’t there.
"The Grigori, who with their prince Satanail rejected the Lord of light,” I read the words out loud, my wavering voice echoing into the large space.
Slamming the book shut, I tossed it back into the pile with the others and quickly rose to my feet, done with my studying for the day. Ever since I thought I saw Lucifer, I spent the last handful of days searching all over the world for the books at my feet but could only search in the darkness of the night so as not to risk mortals seeing me.
I tried dream walking to find where Lucifer had ended up but only found myself walking into a dream of someone who wasn’t familiar. The only scene in front of me was a vast field of green overtaken by bloodshed and soot from what some may thought came from the burning woods behind me.
Although, I knew it wasn’t soot that covered the ground at my feet. It was something not many mortals saw quite often.
Angel dust.
It was only ever left behind after an intense battle, their energy staying behind in a variety of ways; most of the time in angel dust.
However, the destruction from the battle and angel dust weren’t what made my stomach twist in knots. It was the crumbled body that lay at my feet, blood pouring from a gash in his neck but I couldn’t see his face due to his long locks of hair covering it. The crow that seemed to follow me everywhere pecking away at the open wound on the man's chest.
I ran a hand through my hair, the black locks not as shocking as the first night after my fall, and slipped on my jacket. It was worn from me spending the last few nights flying from other ends of the earth and two large slits in the back from where my wings extended from my back. The old building I’d been hiding away in since my fall almost two weeks ago was slowly becoming my home. I didn’t have a bed since angels didn’t need to sleep. We could, if we wanted to, however, I never felt the need to.
There was no food since, like sleep, angels didn’t need to eat. Although I did indulge in some sweets now and then from the bakery across the street, I didn’t feel the need to sit and have a meal.
The one thing, however, I did need was a shower but unfortunately, this abandoned building did not have running water. Which meant late in the evenings, I found myself bathing in the ocean; the salt water helped maintain the life and color of my wings.
Dreaded black wings.
With a long sigh, I stepped out into the night California air to head back to the bookstore that was around the block. Among the intellectual texts I’ve picked up, I’ve also begun reading up on psychology and philosophy just as a way to pass the time.
“Hello, Lethia! I was hoping you’d stop by tonight,” Greg, the older gentleman behind the bookstore counter, smiled at me.
I raised a playful brow. “I told you I would. You promised you’d have something for me.”
Greg slid over a worn book to me. “It took me some time to find it but here it is.”
The corner of my lip curled carefully and flipped through The Death of Socrates, my nostrils flaring at the old book smell.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked Greg.
He waved me off. “Same as always. Just make sure to return them in the same condition. No one ever asks for Plato’s work anymore; it's such a shame. So any chance I can scour for one of them, makes me happy.”
I tapped the counter with a smile. “Thank you, Greg. I’ll make sure to bring you a cannoli when I return the book.”
“I think this deserves a large pan of Baklava,” he said while placing another book on the counter.
The Secrets of Lucifer.
My red eyes darkened as I carefully picked up the book, it weighing heavy in my hand.
“Greg, I will bring you whatever your heart desires for this,” I shifted my eyes to his. “Thank you.”
With both books tucked away in a bag from the shop, I maneuvered my way through crowds of people, scowling at the King above for dropping me into one of the busiest cities. A bright neon sign on a building caught my gaze as I approached the street where my makeshift home was.
Live Music.
Music? Maybe I can find a hint about where Lucifer is.
Before I stepped inside the building, a chilling and painful breeze brushed across the back of my neck causing me to spin on my heels. A loud ringing scratched at my ears but I remained stoned as my eyes hastily looked around the busy street and sidewalk. Something was different in the air; it smelled different.
Titling my head to the side, I gazed down at my feet when something caught my attention.
“What are you doing here?” I muttered.
Dark eyes from the crow stared into my soul as it was perched between my feet.
“I’m not dreaming so why are you here?” I bent to my knees.
I knew it was the same one from my dream walking because of the single white path of feathers that ran down its spine. The crow continued to stare at me, not making a sound, so I tapped its head with a gentle finger.
“If you’re here outside a dream,” I looked at my surroundings once again. “It can only mean one thing and that my friend, is what I was afraid of.”
Rising to my feet, I ushered the bird away with a simple flick. “Go see what you can find for me.”
With a simple caw, the crow fluttered its wings and flew to an unknown destination as I turned on my heels walking into the building. It was loud from the constant pounding from the speakers and the boisterous voices from the packed crowd. Everyone in Los Angeles was here tonight as I pushed my way through to find a single spot open at the bar.
“What can I get you?” A petite blonde behind the bar asked me with a smile, but when she took one gaze into my red eyes, she took a large step back.
It was like this every time someone took their first look at me. Red eyes must not have been common here on earth.
“I’m alright, thank you.” I gave a curt nod while sitting on the stool and began reading The Death of Socrates.
It didn’t last long, however, when a man pushed his way past the bodies on both sides of me so he could lean against the bar, eyeing me down.
“Who the fuck reads at a bar?”
Ignoring him, I simply turned the page, continuing to read.
This prompted him to lay his large hand on the pages of the book, crumpling them.
My head snapped up towards him when his green eyes ravaged my face, licking his lips slowly. “I’m not into broads with short hair or eyes like yours but I’m sure if I fuck you from behind, it won’t be an issue.”
“I’d suggest if you want to keep that hand that you take it off of my book,” I said with an eerily calm voice.
“Or what?” He snorted. “You think you can do anything to me?”
Just before I was about to rise to my feet, a loud voice came through the speaker which prompted the man to push away from my book and disappear into the crowd.
“We have a treat for you guys tonight!” The voice in the microphone made my ears burn as I screwed my eyes shut. “These guys are on break from tour but we managed to talk them into playing a show for you all. Give it up for Bad Omens!”
Bad Omens.
My eyes snapped open just in time for me to look up at the stage before me when that familiar face beamed out into the crowd. His almond eyes shone brightly as he began singing the first song, other familiar faces registering in my mind as they played their instruments.
The man playing what I was sure was the drums: Nick, the one I had pinned to the ground the first time I fell to Earth.
The man with long hair playing a guitar. I didn’t know his name but I remembered his voice didn’t sound like the others.
The man playing an instrument I just learned about, the bass. He was also there that night but I didn’t talk to him.
Then the last man stood front and center as he sang into a microphone, his hair falling around his shoulders in dark waves. Those almond eyes scanned over every face in the crowd until they rested on mine; a breath getting caught in my throat.
Noah.
I was only a few feet away from the stage so when our eyes locked, Noah’s face broke out in a smile as he took a couple steps towards me.
“And when he has you by your neck,” he screamed into the microphone.
I expected him to sound like something else; nothing like this. So eternal. So elegant. So breathtaking.
I stood there frozen as Noah danced across the stage, the crowd jumping along with him. People even enjoyed jumping on top of each other as others moved them along, carrying them throughout.
As Bad Omens played their set, I couldn’t move; transfixed on the sight of them before me. I couldn’t explain this weird feeling that surged through me as Noah’s eyes kept darting over to me, almost making sure I was still there. Then when he waved toward me during their last song, my heart studered in my chest.
What was this feeling? It was unknown and it scared me to absolute death to follow it.
But then something familiar tickled behind my neck, chills covering every inch of my skin and I hastily looked around me to see the crow perched outside the open door of the building. The noise of Bad Omens and the crowd faded to nothing as all I could hear was the constant cawing of the bird, almost beckoning me to follow.
“Lethia, come back to me.”
Whirling behind me, I expected to see Lucifer but ended up scaring the people who stood there when they took in the wild look in my eyes.
“Lethia, you belong to me.”
Lucifer’s voice was loud in my mind now as I whirled around again, this time facing the stage. My eyes caught with Noah’s and he gave me a slight frown before he took the steps down the stage to come towards me.
“You were sworn to me and me alone. No other being on this earth can have you.”
“Stop it,” I muttered, closing my eyes.
“Why haven’t you looked for me? Why haven’t you come to me?”
I clawed at my ears, now yelling. “STOP! LUCIFER STOP!”
“Lethia.”
Noah's soft voice cooed as he reached for my hands, the touch unknown and unfamiliar; as if the wind was grasping at me.
“You’re a disgrace for a soldier of Lucifer’s. How dare you spend time with a mortal?”
My eyes snapped open at this new voice, only to be clouded with a new vision of a face I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
White eyes. Even whiter hair. A large golden hoop hanging from the middle of their nose.
Her name fell from my lips as darkness suddenly took over, my body falling to a heap into Noah’s arms.
LETHIA
I stood alone in an empty field, the same one I dreamed walked in earlier. Angel dust covered the ground and fluttered in the air. Smoke weighed heavily in my nostrils, leaving a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. The crow pecked away at the gaping wound in the stomach of the man who lay at my feet.
His long brown locks were covering his face so bending slowly at the knees, careful not to disturb the crow, and black nails brushed away the hair from the man's face, void almond eyes staring into my soul.
I choked on his name as I stumbled back, falling to my ass.
“No-.”
Suddenly, a fast and hard stampede echoed in my ears and my chest as I scrambled to my knees. Large, black wings exploded from my back with a gust of wind just in time for a massive bull to run towards me. With my left hand outstretched and a mere thought of a dagger, it appeared out of thin air. I threw the dagger at the bull when it was less than five feet away from me, only for it to bounce off its large back.
“Shit,” I cursed, protecting myself with my wings.
The bull’s nostrils flared, a puff of breath blowing through the angel dust, then as I prepared myself for impact, the bull stopped meters in front of my face. Its warm breath now fanning over my face as I gritted my teeth.
Bright white eyes stared back at me as the large golden hoop protruding from its nose rumbled with each deep breath.
“Lethia, my how you’ve changed,” the bull's voice spoke in my mind.
“Maraxa,” I spat with ice-cold venom.
The bull chuffed, dragging its feet against the grass. Its black horns were almost too large for its head but somehow seemed as if it weighed nothing. Its lips curled back in a deep snarl, sharp black teeth covered with blood held my gaze.
“You’ve been hiding your scent well, Lethia.”
“I didn’t know you were looking for me,” I said.
The bull chuffed. “My dear, everyone is looking for you. Unlucky for you, however, Lucifer and I have found you first.”
I raised a brow. “Oh, since when did it become Lucifer and I? You were nothing to him before we fell.”
“Lucifer is my king, I do as he says. I serve him. He sent me to find you, now he never said you had to be alive.”
My eyes never left the bulls. “You can’t kill me in a dream, Maraxa.”
“No, I cannot,” the bull snarled its teeth again. “But I can in that little hole in the wall you’ve called home since you fell. If not there, then that bookstore you love to frequent.”
Ice filled my veins as my wings stood ever still, unmoving in the wind. I thought I’d been smart with hiding my scent from heavens beasts but if Maraxa managed to find me, that only meant others were soon to follow. The only way I could fix this situation was to find somewhere else to hide for a bit before my scent was picked up again.
But I’d been so lucky to find that abandoned building. I couldn’t risk it again.
“I didn’t expect to be on the Kingdom’s most wanted list.”
A loud laughter echoed inside my mind. “The King doesn’t want you. He cast you for a reason, Lethia. It is Lucifer that sent me.”
Lucifer’s face flashed in my vision for a brief second. Instead of feeling the usual love and adoration I’d felt before, now all I felt was dread. Darkness. Sadness. Fear.
I swallowed thickly. “You can tell Lucifer if he wants me, he can come find me himself. Not to send one of his lackeys.”
“Should he look for you in that crumbling building or with that young mortal man with the almond eyes,” the bull didn't flinch.
My eyes snapped to the body to my left, the crow long gone, and all that stared back were those cold, vacant eyes.
“It’s time to come home,” its voice spoke in my mind again just before it sunk its teeth deep into my throat.
I awoke with a loud gasp, breathing uneven and labored as I clawed at the skin of my throat, checking to make sure there were no open wounds. But instead were now scratch marks as my nails dug deep.
“Shit, Lethia,” large hands grasped mine to stop my attack on my throat.
My eyes snapped up at the voice, almond eyes gazing down at me full of worry, only this time they were full of light and life.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Noah’s soft voice cooed; exactly like earlier.
Feeling the comfort radiate off of him made my heart rate immediately calm and I couldn’t stop myself as my fingers slowly grazed over his cheek; the feeling numb.
Noah’s beauty was mesmerizing, the way his hair fell into his face in perfect waves, the way his lips curled up into a faint smile, and the freckles that peppered his nose and cheeks. Then lastly, those eyes and the way they drank me in.
“Are you sure you’re not like me?” I whispered, fingertips tracing over his bottom lip.
NOAH
“How is she?” I asked, all but barreling through the door of the green groom.
Jolly, who was kneeling in front of the body on the couch, nodded. “She’s alright, hasn’t woken up yet.”
Sighing, I set the bag of books down on the table and took Jolly’s spot, him giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“Any idea what she was screaming before she passed out?” Nicholas wondered.
“Lucifer,” I muttered, never taking my eyes off the sleeping form of Lethia.
Her lips were parted slightly, a soft snore emanating from them, ebony colored hair fell into her eyes so I gently brushed it away; her face never reacting to my touch.
Almost as if she couldn’t feel it.
“I’m sorry,” Michael shook his head. “Did you say Lucifer? As in The Devil?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with a sigh. “It’s probably unrelated.”
The sound of a bag rustling sounded in the small green room, Michael holding up the two books that belonged to Lethia.
The Death of Socrates and The Secrets of Lucifer.
“Unrelated my ass,” Michael grumbled while tossing the books onto the table.
“What is your issue with her?” I asked while turning towards him, sitting on the edge of the couch.
He shrugged. “She showed up broken in our driveway and didn’t even say thank you to you for taking her in and helping. Then you keep running into her. LA isn’t a small town, Noah. She’s stalking you.”
“You don’t know that,” I narrowed my eyes toward him.
Folio could immediately pick up on the tension so his calm voice spoke up. “Michael is just worried about you, Noah. That’s all. You guys just moved a few months ago because of previous stalkers.”
I peered down at Lethia as she still slept. “Lethia’s not like the others. Every time we run into each other, she tries to get away from me.”
“Maybe you should let her,” Michael grumbled under his breath.
Choosing to ignore him, I looked up at the door to the room when it opened, Bryan walking in now.
“Any luck?” I questioned.
He hesitated before shaking his head. “The guy at the bookstore only knows her name and the kind of books she’s interested in; nothing else. She always picks up the books, never lets the store send them to her.”
Fuck.
“Lethia mentioned that she was kicked out of her previous home,” I said.
“Where does she stay then?” Jolly asked while crossing his arms.
I shrugged. “No idea. She didn’t tell me.”
When I noticed the name of the bookstore on the bag, I asked Byran if he could go find out any information. It had been bugging me for weeks since I first met Lethia to find out more about her; where she came from, where she lived, and what her obsession with finding Lucifer was.
I nodded at Bryan before resting my eyes on Lethia’s face once more, watching her sleep for a few long moments.
When I saw her out in the crowd tonight, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart skipped a beat or the way my hands shook with nerves. It always was like this when we found each other again, a feeling I couldn’t push deep down and lock away. Lethia was interesting and had her quirks, some of which I was desperate to find out.
I couldn't let her leave here alone tonight. There was this pull deep within my chest that vibrated every time Lethia and I were nearby; just like right now. She needed my help whether or not she would admit it.
“I think she needs a place to stay and try to get back on her feet,” I said while looking back over to Michael and Jolly.
The latter nodded, immediately understanding what I meant. Michael, however, rolled his eyes.
“We don’t have a guest room. It’s already a full house with the three of us and Jesse.”
I shrugged. “I’ll sleep on the couch. She can stay in my room.”
“Noah, you know I’ll agree with you no matter what, but we’ve had issues with stalkers finding out where you live and leaving shit on your car. We can’t have this happen again,” Jolly said.
“I know,” I nodded. “But Lethia’s different. She needs help and I want to. Just until she gets back on her feet.”
“Savior complex back?” Nicholas asked.
“No! It’s just me being a decent human being,” I defended.
Bryan snorted. “Yeah, her being attractive doesn’t have anything to do with this?”
My cheeks burned as I shifted on the couch. “No.”
“Right.”
A loud gasp had me snapping my head towards Lethia as she awoke, immediately clawing at her neck. Her black nails left red marks, deep and angry, and I grasped at her hands.
“Shit, Lethia,” I cursed while grasping her hands.
Her red eyes filled with fear and despair softened as soon as they met mine but her breathing was still erratic.
“Hey, it’s alright,” I cooed.
Lethia’s shaking fingers grazed over my jaw, nails tracing the pout of my bottom lip.
“Are you sure you’re not like me?”
Her voice was hushed so much that I had to lean into her touch, hoping I heard her correctly. I scanned over every soft feature of her face but sucked in breath suddenly.
“Lethia, your nose. It’s bleeding,” I informed.
Her hands went to her face, wiping away the dark blood; only hers wasn’t the typical crimson color. It was black.
“Fuck,” she muttered as she stared at her hand.
Folio handed her a tissue, one she took with a small smile. “Thank you, uh-.”
“Nick but you can call me Folio,” he smiled.
“Right,” Lethia nodded before sitting up, drawing her knees to her chest. “You were the one I attacked that night.”
“Thank you for not doing it again,” he chuckled while packing up his things.
She looked around the room skeptically until her gaze landed on Michael, a low scowl pulling on her lips.
“Oh, it's you.”
He crossed his arms. “Are you stalking Noah?”
“Michael,” I warned with a stern voice.
“Me stalking him?!” Lethia gasped while standing to her feet. “Everywhere I turn, he’s there.”
“Maybe it’s some soul mate shit,” Bryan joked.
I rolled my eyes as I stood to my feet next. “I don’t believe in soulmates.”
Lethia cocked her head to the side as she peered down at the table. “My books.”
“Yeah, I brought them back here with you after you passed out. I wanted to make sure you didn’t lose them,” I said.
“Thank you,” she looked up at me through her lashes.
“Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked the guys.
Nodding, they all gathered their things before Lethia and I were alone. She refused to meet my gaze now, kept it trained hard on the books she had clutched to her chest.
“How are you feeling?” I asked after a long beat of silence.
“Fine.”
I shifted on my feet, trying to gain the courage to bring up the idea of having her stay with me.
“Is there a hotel where I can drop you off?”
Lethia slowly raised her gaze to mine. “Hotel?”
The confusion in her voice made me narrow my eyes slightly.
“Unless you’ve found a house to stay in. I guess, is there anywhere you want me to take you? I can drop you off wherever or you could maybe stay here,” I rubbed the back of my neck nervously.
The corner of her lip curled up in a quick smile.
“Nervous?” She jeered.
I scoffed, trying to play it off, but she saw right through me.
“What I’m trying to say is; is there anything I can do to help you, Lethia? I feel compelled ever since I found you in my driveway,” I admitted while taking a tentative step toward her.
The hesitation was evident in the way her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened.
“Will you let me help you?”
My voice was quiet as my fingers reached for hers and when our skin touched, it felt as if sparks shot off inside of me, igniting all five of my senses. My stomach flipped and my heart jumped into my throat when I linked our fingers together, squeezing her hand.
Lethia never reacted to my touch.
“Wh-why would you want to help me?” She stammered.
“I help people I care about,” I answered as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Her brows furrowed. “But you don’t know me, Noah.”
I swallowed thickly hearing my name fall from her lips, it causing straight heat to shoot straight to my dick.
“Come with me, stay at my place for a few days until you get back on your feet; figure out where you want to go,” I suggested with another squeeze of her hand.
Again, no reaction.
But I could see the internal battle within Lethia as her eyes darted between mine. Finally, her shoulders slumped as if the decision was made with so much thought it made her weak.
“Ok,” Lethia agreed with a curt nod.
I did my best not to show my excitement even though my heart was soaring.
“But I have to take care of some things first,” she said before I could. “Then I’ll be ready.”
“That’s fine. Did you want me to pick you up or something?”
“No, that’s alright. I have my own means to get to your house,” Lethia waved me off.
She went to walk away, ready to leave the room, until I called after her. “Can I have your phone?”
“My what?” Lethia slowly turned on her heels.
Fuck, she looked so cute with the way her nose scrunched up when she was confused; which seemed to happen a lot.
“Your phone,” I couldn’t hold back my smile.
Her eyes widened. “Oh right, that cellular device you humans use to talk to one another. I don't have one.”
“You don’t have a phone?” I asked.
“Why would I? I don’t have anyone to talk to besides you but it seems like we’re always destined to run into each other,” Lethia pointed a finger at me.
Destiny.
I didn’t know why but that word always made my body shiver with something I couldn’t put my finger on. I never believed in soulmates and that my soul was meant for one person only. Well, that was until Lethia seemed to fall from grace into my life a few weeks ago and all I could think about was her. My soul yearned for her in ways that physically made me weak.
When I wasn’t in her presence, I spent my time holed up in the studio writing or bedroom trying to dream of her because that seemed to be the only time I could find with her. Those dreams felt so real each time even the fucking bird that seemed to watch us every time.
Except for the last few days, when I did dream, it wasn’t of Lethia. It was of destruction and death, leaving me in a sweaty panic mess when I awoke.
“Noah?”
Snapping out of my thoughts, I hummed in response to Lethia.
“Give me some time. I’ll be at your house before midnight,” she said, clutching those books close to her chest.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” I ran a hand through my hair.
Even though her smile was wide, I could see the fear behind her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
Just as she was about to walk out the door, I rambled off my address to her.
“I remember!” Lethia’s sweet voice echoed back.
NOAH
With careful precision, I straightened out the blanket on my bed and made sure the pillows were fluffed just right. On my desk was a stack of fresh, folded towels with some different toiletries Lethia might need. Jolly’s girlfriend left some shampoo and body wash behind the last time she stayed over and after double-checking with her, she gave me the okay to use them.
I didn’t know if she needed an extra set of clothes so on the end of my bed was a pair of my sweats and a shirt, just in case.
Running my hands over my thighs, I went through the mental checklist of everything as what seemed like a large bird flew past my window.
Fresh bed sheets.
Fresh towels.
Comfy clothes.
Toiletries.
“Noah.”
Spinning around, I gave a warm smile to Jesse and the form behind him.
“She’s nervous,” Jesse mouthed before stepping to the side, showcasing Lethia.
She was, in fact, nervous as she shifted on her feet with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Hi,” I said. “Did you take care of what you needed to?”
“Yes,” she still stood outside my bedroom door, idly in the hallway.
I waved her in. “You can come in.”
Hesitantly, Lethia stepped past the threshold as her eyes took in almost every inch of my room. The lights were off, the only light emanating from the red LED behind my bed, and she quirked a brow at them.
“So,” I ran a hand over my chest. “I left you some things in case you wanted to shower. And some extra clothes.”
“This is where you sleep?” Lethia pointed to my bed.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. You can sleep here, I’ll stay on the couch.” I assured her.
I noticed she was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of my room, clutching a black bag to her chest.
“Is that everything?” I asked.
“Uh, yes. I didn’t have much. Just some clothes and books,” she said.
“Like the ones I found on you earlier?” I asked while sitting on the edge of my bed.
Lethia nodded, hesitantly following my lead. “Yes, I’ve been studying philosophy. It’s quite interesting learning about Socrates and his life.”
She bounced a few times on the bed, a small giggle leaving her lips. “Oh, this is nice.”
“My bed?”
Her body fell in a heap against it, now a soft sigh emanating from her. “This is nothing compared to the clouds but fuck, I can’t believe I’ve been depriving myself of this kind of comfort.”
I chuckled. “Well, make yourself at home. I’ve also been reading up on philosophy. It’s always been a passion of mine. I might have some books lying around on my bookshelf. Feel free to read one that interests you.”
“That is very nice of you, Noah. You do not need to do all of this.”
Lethia gazed up at me, still lying back on my bed.
I patted her knee. “I want to help you out any way I can, Lethia.”
Slowly she sat up and stared for a long moment at my hand on her knee, her brows furrowed with confusion and anger. I went to pull away but her hand stopped me by resting on top of mine. The softness of her skin sent heat throughout my body.
“I can’t feel you,” she muttered under her breath. “Why can’t I feel you?”
“Wh-?”
“Noah!” Jolly knocked on the open door, urgency in his voice. “There’s someone outside for Lethia.
Her eyes snapped up towards Jolly. “Excuse me?”
“She’s on the front step claiming she’s an old friend of yours,” Jolly informed.
I narrowed my eyes. “How does she know Lethia is here?”
A loud cawing caused me to jump towards the open window of my bedroom, a black crow sitting perched on the sill. The long white stripe of feathers down its spine told me it was the same one that had been haunting my dreams.
“Fuck,” Lethia cursed when she eyed the bird.
Before Jolly could answer, she was quick on her feet to push past Jolly, her loud footsteps descending the steps.
LETHIA
Ignoring the wild looks from Noah’s other roommates, I whipped open the front door to be met with bright white eyes. Her usual long white hair was pulled back in a tight bun but her golden nose hoop stood out in stark contrast to the black night sky. It was weird not seeing her in the beast form she was known for; the one I saw earlier in my dream.
Her human form was equally as daunting.
“Maraxa,” I seethed while stepping outside, the door falling shut behind me.
She eyed up the house. “Hm, cozying up with the mortal, I see. What would Lucifer say to this?”
“I gave up caring what he thinks when he was the reason for my fall,” I sneered while crossing my arms; the leather of my jacket creaking.
Maraxa clicked her tongue. “You chose to follow him, Lethia. The love you two shared was palpable. Untouchable. Not even the King could get between you two.”
“If Lucifer loved me then why is he sending you to fetch me like I’m some kind of animal,” I seethed.
“He’s a busy man. I’m sure you’ll understand once you're down there ruling beside him.”
“Why do you want me to go back with you so badly? I know you’ve always wanted my place,” I said.
An all too-knowing look flashed behind her white eyes even though they were filled with no emotion.
“I live to serve my lord, Lucifer,” Maraxa simply said.
“Well, you can tell your Lord that if he wants me beside him, he can come find me himself,” I swiftly spun on my heels, ready to head back inside.
“He’ll search all four corners of the earth for you,” she called after me.
“Let him!” I shot back, not bothering to look.
It was Maraxa’s next words that gave me pause with my hand on the doorknob.
“Your actions will get this mortal and his people killed!”
I remembered the body with the gaping wound on his chest as he lay in the open field of angel dust. Those lifeless eyes that stared up at me during that dream weren’t like the ones that shined as they looked up at me as we sat together on his bed.
“I’d rather cut off my wings than let that happen,” I vowed before slipping back inside the house.
#tina talks#noah sebastian#bad omens#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian smut#noah sebastian angst#noah sebastian x fallenangel!oc#mercy noah sebastian
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HAPPY VALENTINES 💘
this year at the Grigori Wings discord we did a secret valentines event and I got @bcbdrums ! Historians will say they were very close friends :3c this was so much fun to work on 💖
close up under the cut
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Soul Eater OC Tip #5: Create a distinct head design
When designing a Soul Eater OC, it is a good idea to give the original character a distinct head design. To have a distinct head design means for a character to have a hairstyle, facial features, headwear, or accessories that allow a viewer to easily distinguish them from another character. Making use of these unique features on a Soul Eater character’s head is beneficial in two ways. First, the character will be easily recognizable. Second, the character’s “chibi” soul will be easier to draw.
Creating a distinct head design is a common tip for making an easily recognizable silhouette and thus a good character design. The YouTube channel, BaM Animation, emphasizes the importance of having a unique head silhouette. “Every character design works better if you can recognize them just from the silhouette… Another way to improve silhouette clarity is to take the character’s head and add a little weird shape that is unique to only them.”
Many characters in Soul Eater have head features that make them easily recognizable. Not only do they have weird shapes that accentuate their silhouette, they also have other facial features and hairstyles that do not necessarily add to their silhouette, but make their appearances memorable nevertheless. All these details are effectively utilized in the appearance of their “chibi” soul.
The chibi soul is a representation of a character’s soul visualized by simplifying the character’s head down to its most distinct features. These chibi souls only appear a few times in the series, particularly when Stein is using Soul Perception to analyze the souls of the main characters. Even though the series did not show many chibi versions of its characters’ souls, chibi souls are popular among artists who design Soul Eater OCs. Because chibi souls are such a big part of creating OCs in Soul Eater fandom, it is worth analyzing the designs of canon chibi souls.
Maka’s pigtails are an iconic feature of her head that express the nature of her character very well. While the hairstyle itself can be translated into the stereotypical anime symbol of cuteness, Maka’s pigtails are neat and tidy, rather than flowy and delicate, which appear to reflect her sense of duty and responsibility. The pigtails are also the main feature of her soul, and in some depictions appear to represent the wings of her Grigori soul.
A defining feature of Soul’s face is his sharp teeth, which also happen to be the main feature of his chibi soul. The teeth symbolize the “eater” part of his character, and is also featured in the Soul Eater logo.
Black Star’s silhouette is instantly recognizable because of his star-shaped hair. As a visual representation of his energy and desire to be a star, it is the feature that is prominent in the design of his soul.
Tsubaki’s unique head shape is formed by her long ponytail. Appearing to be an expression of her femininity and practicality, it is the main shape featured in her chibi soul.
Death the Kid’s head is unmistakably his because of his incomplete Lines of Sanzu. While they do not contribute to his silhouette, they are defining part of his appearance, and is the main feature of his chibi soul. What does make his silhouette distinguishable from generic male anime characters with short straight hair, however, is the strands of hair that stick out at the base of his neck.
Liz and Patty’s souls are characterized by their cowboy hats. The two are distinguished from each other with their facial expressions. Patty’s is more cheerful and has a blush, while Liz’s appears to have more droopy eyes.
Not all Soul Eater characters have chibi version souls, but is still significant to point out that Soul Eater character designs have very distinct head details and silhouettes compared to other anime and manga series. To name a few more more examples would be Stein’s head screw, Ragnarok’s X face, Medusa’s hood and Rod of Asclepius hair, Arachne’s spider hair bun, Ox’s glasses and hair spikes, Harvar’s visor and ponytail, Mira’s bandages and dreadlocks, Marie’s eyepatch, Justin’s Zucchetto, and Lord Death’s mask.
It is not mandatory for a Soul Eater OC to have a chibi soul, but understanding the design choices made in the chibi souls of the main characters can help make an OC design that fits the Soul Eater universe better. Not only that, one useful trick could be to design a chibi soul first and adding details later. This will prevent the character design from becoming too generic or overly detail-oriented because it helps the design to start out with a solid and simple base shape.
#soul eater oc tips#soul eater#character design#soul eater oc#maka albarn#soul evans#black star#death the kid#tsubaki nakatsukasa#patty thompson#liz thompson#franken stein#ox ford#harvar d. eclair#bam animation
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Azazel | Gods and Demons Wiki | Fandom
Greetings Pope Francis Xi Jinping Mohammed VI Cyril Ramaphosa Abiy Ahmed Olaf Scholz Alain Berset Thomas Müeller Oliver Mintzlaff African Union Arab League,
Biology Magic: As a Fallen Angel of his level he can use his energy to manipulate the biological components of lesser beings and control their internal processes as a result. (Telepathy and Fifth Heaven Brain)
Luciferianism New Religion Buddhism-Confucianism Greco-Grigori Yoruba: Lucifer as God, Oversoul 6 Fallen Archangels (not Satan), Satanel and Oversoul 5 Lesser Satans (The Grigori) (not affiliated with Satan), Syncretism on Obatala; Caishen; Inari; Eros; and Satanel, Gadreel as Guardian Angel, Syncretism on Azazel and Gadreel, Change Demi-god/Legacy Powers to Angel Powers to Develop your wings. Asian-Pacific Ancestry for Yoruban Zodiac Signs. For example, I am building Gastronomy-Health Insurance Angels for Shango's Heaven to help develop the Oyo Royal Farm.
Olaf, Luciferianism Grigori Anglo-Saxon is possible.
Regards,
Adrian Blake-Trotman
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Chapter 141 Recap and Notes
We start off with a mysterious figure coming out of a black void. The figure is worse for wear, and we see a gloved hand and a flash of a polka-dotted ascot. This is Mephisto returning from the in-between space he was trapped in.
We think he's speaking to Yukio to wake him up, but this is another bait and switch. Mephisto just found Rin and brought him back from...somewhere.
We see a bleak future in the last chapter, and I was sure all our favourite characters died, as a matter of fact, I think they were dead. Bon is clearly suffering from a horrible head injury that was not survivable.
But in this new timeline, they are alive and well. Something happened that saved them all.
It was a lucky charm.
A lucky charm Shiemi gave her friends all the way back at the Christmas party in chapter 89. But how the fuck would Shiemi know the exwires would need this kind of divine protection in the future?
Was the Christmas Party Shiemi a different Shiemi? Perhaps, one from the future? Or were the charms all a sleight of hand by Mephisto and a product of his meddling?
Or is it just a big fat coincidence? I don't know.
One thing is for sure, Mephisto was also surprised they weren't dead; the future he saw had them pushing up daisies, Rin is all alone and the world was in shambles.
One thing we do know the world can't be saved unless the exwires survive.
And we all know that Rin and Shiemi are made stronger by having close friends and family to support them. This manga is all about those kinds of relationships and how the strength of Kinship is important.
So there's more to this narrative we don't know about. Shiemi, maybe, has secrets. Or she teams up with Mephisto in this current timeline. Goes back in time...anywho...it boggles the mind, right?
So, back to Mephisto.
He is the one that finds Rin, and brings him back on his umbrella, winged familiar, which is now some sort of creepy horse.
But we have a problem, the Rin Mephisto has in tow....isn't right. The rest of our beloved characters are acting as expected (well except for Shura), but Rin is not himself.
He's talking and acting like the Rin from the future. He has no smile for us, no happiness at finding his friends alive. The sight of Shiemi barely brings magic to his eyes. He's weary and broken.
The question is...is he Rin from the future?
OR
Does Rin have time/space powers like Mephisto? Does he have the power to see future visions through lucid dreams? Punch holes through space/time?
Well, we already know he can.
He started doing it back in chapter 109.
And to add to the mystery, Mephisto knows. Whatever has happened to Rin, it's a secret for the time king to unravel. That look speaks volumes.
Moving on.....
The knights of the true cross are all still alive, Lightning, Shura, Shemihaza, Neuhaus, and Osceola.
But Shemihaza is tired, Satan has taken all of her power, and the world is being destroyed. She wasn't able to maintain the "Enpeira" , a magical force field.
She is only alive because Amaimon risked his life to save her, and I gotta say, his new look is metal as hell. It even freaked Mephisto out a little bit.
The Grigori is in shambles.
Mephisto and Shemihaza are too weak to carry on. They must rest to continue the battle.
Shemihaza leaves Shiemi with her authority, but the rest of the exorcists refuse to team up with her. They write her off as an untrained child, and when they do, Shiemi's old fears and lack of confidence creep back in. Luckily, the rest of her exorcist friends push through the crowd.
We know that they will stand by her.
Sheimi's friends are her power.
-----------------------
Other Notes
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Knight of the True Cross is polarized.
Most exorcists believe this is the end of the world, and we start to see what the future holds, with humanity and the knights of the true cross divided.
Satan:
Satan is acting like a Sumerian-era Amaimon. He will rampage the world until he can be somehow sealed or somehow tamed. The exorcists must take on his heart.
But Shemihaza was only powerful enough to seal Amaimon's destructive power and was one of the lowest-powered demon kings.
How on earth can Shiemi take on Satan?
She has Rin....the other heir of Shemihaza. Can two Shemihazas take down Satan...maybe.
But is "taking down Satan" the wrong idea. Was Amaimon tamed or loved? Why does Amaimon work selflessly for Shemihaza?
Why does he call Shemihaza his wife? (Quick edit...I meant bride) These questions need to be flushed out.
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Please may I have a Blue exorcist scenario of when you *female reader* (she is Yukio's wife and she is Yukio's childhood friend and Rin's because she knew them for a long time. She is half angel and she literally has wings and she is a skilled Paladin and a skilled exorcist and she eventually became a mother to her two children, her son Shiro age 12- Shiro certainly looks like Yukio when he was a kid- and her daughter Yuki age 5 who looks more like her)..were told to shut up by your own daughter when you were talking to Rin on the phone. Shiro looked absolutely stunned at his sister's rudeness, he looked at her in surprise when the homework session was interrupted almost instantly *Yukio was helping his son with it because he was struggling with a part of it* in the kitchen. You were not impressed by her disrespectful attitude when you had to apologise to Rin on the phone..it would've been better if she asked you to move to a different room and you wouldn't have minded..you refused to knowledge her presence. Yukio ended up having to deal with it when he had to take Yuki to a separate room to tell her how wrong that was. Shiro felt awkward about the whole thing, considering that he is half angel..he can literally sense the tension that was in the room and you were angry and it was clear by how hard you were chopping the carrots..Shiro was wise enough to keep his mouth shut when he focused on his homework..you apologised for that when you noticed that he clearly looked scared of you..Shiro was nice about it..Yuki should've been nicer.
The reader is *FEMALE*
Yukio's son, Shiro was named after Yukio's foster Dad who died due to unforeseeable circumstances and Yukio's son certainly looks like Yukio when he was a kid..Shiro literally had wings too..
Hi! Thank you for your request! I hope you like the scenario!
Fandom: Blue Exorcist!
Character: Yukio Okumura x gn! Reader
Word Count: 1.0k (1,005 words)
“So we were able to subdue the demon without needing to resort to more lethal methods.”
You held the phone to your ear with your shoulder, both hands occupied by the knife and vegetables resting on the chopping board in front of you.
On the other end of the phone, Rin, your brother-in-law, replied. “Glad to hear it. I know the Grigori aren’t too lenient with letting demons live so you did a good job of showing them that we don’t always have to kill them to keep people safe.”
You nodded, despite knowing Rin couldn’t see you. “I agree. There’s only so many demons we can kill before we start seeing it as our main purpose, instead of saving people.”
From behind you, you heard your daughter, Yuki, let out a loud sigh. Both of your children, Yuki and Shiro, and your husband, Yukio, were sitting at the dining table working on the kids’ homework. You hoped it was going well but if that sigh was anything to go off, you guessed there had been some hurdles.
“Anyway, we don’t have any scheduled call outs over the next few days so I’ve got my fingers crossed I’ll be able to get on top of some housewo-”
“Oh my gosh!” Yuki’s voice was loud and her declaration was immediately followed by a bang that you guessed was her slamming her hands down on the table. At five, she was just starting to embrace all of her emotions. “Shut up!”
The house fell silent. Even Rin was quiet on the other end of the phone.
You turned around to face your daughter, one hand still holding the knife, the other holding the carrot you had been about to chop. You locked eyes with your daughter, shocked by what had just come out of her mouth. She met your eyes with a steely defiance that took you by surprise.
“We’re trying to do our homework here and you’re just talking, talking, talking. No one cares. Shut up!”
You raised your eyebrows, turning your gaze on your other child. Shiro was staring at his sister, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. He glanced across at you and, as soon as he saw the barely concealed fury behind your eyes, he quickly turned his attention back to his homework.
You then looked across at Yukio who was already looking back at you. His expression was somewhere between shocked and concerned, clearly wondering what you would do next.
You looked back at Yuki who was still staring at you angrily. You opened your mouth, though what you were going to say you weren’t sure, when Rin spoke up from the other side of the phone.
“Hey, uh, you still there?”
You took a deep breath, turning back to the sink. “Yes, I’m still here Rin. Sorry about that.”
“You’re still talking?” Yuki’s voice was incredulous and still very loud.
You ignored her, keeping your focus on the carrot in front of you. “So how’s your schedule over the next few days.”
“Oh, you know. The usual.” You could hear the nervousness in Rin’s voice. He’d been on the receiving end of your anger only a handful of times and knew how terrifying you could be when you wanted to be. “Look, I’m going to go. Uh…don’t kill anyone.”
You lowered the phone from your ear and placed it down on the counter.
“Finally. Some peace and quiet.”
“Come with me for a minute Yuki.” Yukio’s voice was quiet but firm.
You heard Yuki hop down from her chair and follow her father out into the next room. You could almost feel Shiro’s purposefully silent presence behind you. He was a boy well in tune with emotions and he was almost certainly picking up on the tension of everyone who was currently in and had just left the room.
You continued chopping the carrot, putting slightly more force behind your moments than was strictly necessary.
“Yuki, what you just did was rude and disruptive.”
“I wasn’t the only one being rude.”
“I know there was a lot of noise while you were trying to concentrate on your homework and we’ll talk about trying to be quieter while you’re working but that’s no reason to tell anyone to shut up. That’s very rude.”
“How else was I supposed to make it quiet?”
Yukio sighed. “You could have asked me if we could move the homework to another room. Or we could have had a break until the phone call with Uncle Rin was finished.”
There was a long pause while Yuki considered this.
“Okay. I’ll try that.” Her voice was still petulant but you heard the beginnings of remorse in there.
“Let’s go back to Shiro and keep doing our homework. How does that sound?”
“Good. I want to finish my homework before dinner.”
You heard the two walk back into the kitchen and sit back down at the table. The tension was still palpable and you knew you were going to have to address the issue with Yuki directly.
But before you could even turn to face her, she spoke up. “I’m sorry I said shut up. I know it was rude. I was frustrated.”
You turned to look at your daughter, placing the knife down on the counter as you did. “I accept your apology. I’m also sorry. I know you were trying to concentrate on your homework and I was making a lot of noise talking to Uncle Rin.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Shiro let out a deep sigh, “I really thought you were going to go crazy for a minute there.”
You laughed. “You should know I’d never do anything to hurt you two. I love you more than anything, even if you make me mad sometimes.”
“How about we all get back to what we were doing before?” Yukio had a gentle smile on his face as he looked around at his family, “Come on kids, otherwise we won’t get all this homework done before dinner.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.
ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms
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#writing#fanfic#fanfic request#request#blue exorcist#blue exorcist x reader#yukio okumura#yukio okumura x reader
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Resbang 2023 Update
Hiya darling friends, nonnies, lurkers, fellow nerds.
The Modborg has done some discussion and while we love Resbang and this incredible community, we've decided that we will be taking a break from hosting Resbang this year.
It's a bittersweet decision, but we've been doing this for a decade now, and we agreed that we need a break for our collective modsanity.
We hope that you keep creating in the spirit of the season, and if you're jonesing for Resbangs of Yore, remember to check out the Jackpot threads over on Grigori Wings!
Older Resbangs
2022 Resbang
<3,
the Mods
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JUNO 1-2
Second Deployment: 0900 Hours
Ground Elements In Field:
SWMC Alpha Lance
SWMC Bravo Lance
CFRI 2C Alpha Lance
CFRI 1C Beta Lance
Angel Company 5 + 6 (RTB / DropShip Pickup)
DropShip Deployments at Primary LZ:
CFRI 2C CMD/Logi Unit
CFRI 1C Alpha Mechanized
SWMC Support and Logistics
Resupply Mission (Cargo Only)
Objectives:
Silver Wing: Rendezvous and support CFRI 2C-Alpha; CFRI 1C Alpha.
Attached Asset “Fire Moth” + Elemental: Target infantry manned installations at target Hera
CFRI 2C C/L: Deploy logistics elements and set up FOB
CFRI 1C-A, 2C-A: Joint assault on target “HERA”
Angel Element: Aerial pickup by Leopard to refuel/rearm
After-Action Report:
SWMC Alpha/Bravo, CFRI 1C Alpha/2C Alpha:Damaged units (SWMC A-2, A--3, B-3, B-4) escorted home by Angel-5 and Angel-6. Angel Element conducted aerial docking with CFRI Leopard-1 “Liberty” to return to JumpShip for refuel and rearm. SWMC Combined Elements held on-location against WoB Patrol elements while awaiting reinforcement from CFRI 1C-A/2C-A. Combined arms force designated “WESTWING” proceeded to secondary target “HERA.” As predicted by intelligence, minimal ground support was present along supply routes.
Contact at target was heavy, as predicted. Accurate fire from Heavy LRM turrets accounted for heavy damage to non-’Mech units and the loss of CFRI 2C-A4. Careful maneuvering by CAMG Scorpion and attached infantry elements prevented outflank by WoB Heavy Infantry, request for commendation award. SWMC Lances suffered damage, but secured an advantage against the opposing Choir with a lucky Heavy Large Laser headshot against the commanding Grigori. Bravo 5, however, suffered a loss of right leg functionality late in the fight, and was forced to withdraw. Lack of available air assets to deliver directed anti-structure ordinance forced “WESTWING” elements to conduct an hour-long bombardment with ‘Mech and vehicular heavy weapons. Primary objective completed, all field elements returned to FOB at LZ JUNO.
Engaged and Destroyed:
1x Grigori Invictus
2x Malak Invictus
3x Asura (variants not logged)
1x Preta Luminos
6x Heavy LRM Turret
12x WoB Anti-Tank Heavy Infantry
Damage and Losses:
All Units - Armor and external damage
Alpha 1 - LRM 5 (LT), moderate internal damage (LA, LT, RL)
Alpha 2 - ER PPC (RT) damaged, moderate internal damage (LT, RT)
Alpha 3 - RA lost, LA all actuators damaged
Bravo 1 - Gyro damage, ER Med Laser (RA), moderate internal damage (RA, CT)
Bravo 2 - 2x Double Heat sink (LT), Pilot injury (triaged, treated), moderate internal damage (LT)
Bravo 3 - Heat sink (RL), moderate internal damage (RL)
Bravo 4 - moderate internal damage (RT, LT, LA)
Bravo 5 - RL lost, pilot injury (treated), moderate internal damage (LT)
Additional -
CFRI 2C-Alpha-4 Rotunda Scout Car (RL) destroyed by laser fire during engagement. Deceased with Honors.
CFRI 2nd Company HQ deployed static O/P COMTES communication and ECM system. Completed setup of Collapsible Command Module. Resupplied ammunition and coolant to deployed units. Field repairs completed on SWMC Bravo 3 using replacements from SWMCS Holk. Completed construction of trenchworks, STOL landing pad, and HESCO fortifications. HQ/Logi repelled a probing attack with support from damaged elements of SWMC lances.
Engaged and Destroyed:
1x Gurkha GUR-8G
1x Nexus II NXS2-A
1x Red Shift RDS-3A
16x WoB Rifle Infantry
8x WoB Anti-tank Heavy Infantry
2x Growler Service Utility Truck
Damage and Losses:
Light armor damage to multiple units
1 Crate, Field Rations, “VEGGIE OMELET”
WESTWING Combat Comms Log Excerpt:
CI/NL: ”WESTWING Ground elements watch your flank for OpFor.”
CI1A1: “Copy, OPSCOM. All elements, prepare for contact.”
CI1B1: “CA-Scorpion, get your troops out and pull off the road.”
CAMGS: “Copy, deploying for contact. (Background: OUT, OUT!)”
CI2A5: “Sensors showing a whole fucking lot of bad, inbound.”
CI2A4: “Visual, 600 meters! Sensor can’t get a lock on it…”
SWA4: “Looks like Celestials…”
CI1A1: “Fuck. Alright, call your targets and light ‘em up!”
SWA1: “Bravo 3 on your right!”
SWB3: “Oh, that Grigori is too close for comfort.”
CI1A4: “Holy shit these things are hauling ass! We’re-”
CI2A4: “GET SOME! HA! And they said rockets were a dumb idea.”
CI2A4: “Aw, fuck. It’s not dead? HOW IS IT NOT DEA-”
(END LOG 2C-Alpha-4)
CI1A1: “Friendly down! Target Alpha is CT-red, hit ‘em!”
(Proximity reactor containment failure warning audible)
SWB2: “Engaging that pair of Malaks, good ARAD lock.”
CI2A3: “Goddammit, there’s MORE of these bastards?”
SWB1: “Bravo 3, stay put. I have a good…”
(Multiple energy weapons fire, overheat aural warning audible)
SWB3: “God preserve me…”
CI2A3: “Holy shit, his cockpit is gone. That’s definitely a kill.”
SWB1: “Damn it, I was aiming for the torso, but scratch one Grigori.”
CI2A3: “Dead is dead, man. I’ll take fewer targets any day.”
CI2B3: “How are they tanking this much fucking HE?”(SRM Ammunition 25% Warning audible)
(EXCERPT ENDS)
(OOC- note this occurs just prior to @the-tired-merc's most recent post involving the destruction of Amber's Fire Moth.)
@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not
@the-clawtake
@lt-chari
@frogblast-the-ventcore
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My favorite Dragons' Dogma monster design has got to be the Cyclops. Most pop culture depictions just make it a giant one-eyed humanoid but this one really doubled down on the fun little trivia of how fossil elephant skulls started the Cyclops myth and made it resemble a monstrous elephant-like creature.
Ah, I do love the cyclops design and its elephant traits! Honestly I just dig the Dragon's Dogma monster design in general; from the ogre's being giant ape-like beasties, to harpies having shark-like protruding jaws in 2, the chimera, Grigori and the lesser dragons, and Daimon's body resembling a dragon's face. It feels like the stuff you'd see in a medieval bestiary. Also, special shout out to the Sphinx in DD2 for being beautifully unsettling with her eyes and teeth and peacock wings, I need to find her in-game!
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the way grigori's/the red dragon design is the epitome of a dragon that kids think of/would draw to emphasise the book fairy tale style of the game. the simple lizard face, the stereotypical shape of the horns, the pointed tail, the excessive spikes, the medieval-style wings, the jagged mouth, the fact that he's entirely red. looking at the concept art you can see that more 'realistic' approaches were proposed with the red dragon like with anatomically accurate wings, grimdark or classic high fantasy aesthetics with the extremely rough textures... he looks extremely simple and ironically it makes him stand out as an iconic dragon design for being bright and clean, but what hits the most is-
grigori is intentionally friend-shaped like a child's imagination by design........
#dragon's dogma#ddda grigori#he just.#augh. the amount of though that went into creature design for ddda#just thinking about when u defeat grigori in the arena and he's lying there...#rly shouldve been a cutscene where the arisen walks up to grigori and places their ear and chest to his scar to hear and feel the heartbeat#just like the arisen loved the world. grigori loved the arisen for choosing the world#because that was ultimately what grigori aimed to do in the first place wasnt it? grigori was just passing the torch#anyways the tag rambles are entirely unrelated to the post but ykwim????
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Now Sings My Soul
A Soul Eater fanfic.
Read on: AO3 | FFn
Gift for @mellancholy-morose for the Grigori Wings Discord server's Valentine's Day gift exchange! (we're all posting end of month)
Also, fifth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 6). Prompts from this list.
A/N: Lovingly beta-read by @asymmetryestablished and @memethebum, there was really only one way to go with this prompt...
Set either manga or anime-verse, somewhere after episode 8 but before episode 12.
6. Graceful
Now Sings My Soul
The music was just loud enough that Spirit could hear it through the ancient wooden door of the classroom, the rapid pulsing of the beat from the speakers heavy in his chest and vibrating his fingertips as he fitted his hand around the doorknob. And when he tugged the door open, the fullness of the sound washed over him and he was momentarily overwhelmed.
It was more than the music itself, and little to do with the volume; it was the sheer power of so many souls slipping in and out of resonance in one place that would have taken his breath away were he not used to such an occurrence—had he not experienced the same so many times throughout the years that he knew how to filter out the confusion of curious, overlapping wavelengths and narrow his focus to exactly where it needed to be.
Spirit cast his gaze over the dance class, noting the hurried rhythms the students were creating together, and easily located the young girl Lord Death wanted to see. Her pink hair stood out among the others in the Crescent Moon Class as she and her weapon partner took turns spinning one another in time with the intense, upbeat tune. But rather than approach her to deliver the message, Spirit looked over the rest of class, noting familiar and semi-familiar faces until he found the one that mattered most to him.
The grin that had broken across his visage fell to a scowl as he watched Maka and her weapon partner, and his chest began to burn with something he still couldn't put a name to whenever he saw his daughter with the ivory-haired boy. The pair were not dancing nearly as vigorously as most of the other students, perhaps because Soul was still on the mend from the injury he'd sustained from the Demon Sword. But what had caused Spirit's blood to race was the look in the young teen's eyes—the way he bowed his head closer to Maka's, the look of some shared secret that no force in the world could pry out of them passing between them as they swayed. Soul's arm went further around Maka's back as he laughed at something she said, and Spirit's feet were carrying him down the steps into the classroom proper long before his brain had a chance to catch up.
"Soul Eater!" he said sharply, and he felt the rippling in the wavelengths of those students who had noticed his presence—a faltering in the mass of resonance that decreased the sound in the room just slightly as he approached his daughter and her far-too familiar weapon partner.
He hadn't shouted. In truth his voice had hardly been raised, and definitely wouldn't have carried over the music. But somehow the young teen had heard him, and Spirit had the chance to watch the play of emotions across the weapon's face—recognition, followed by annoyance and defiance, and finally fear, the latter of which caused Soul to release his meister and dart away, but only far enough to hide behind a taller boy in the class.
Maka was looking after her partner in confusion before she turned around, and in an instant her expression dropped to cold fury. This halted Spirit's steps briefly, but he mustered a smile for his daughter and continued his approach.
"Maka, my sweet angel..."
"Death Scythe."
Spirit stopped. Everything within him was suddenly drawn to a halt, so much so that he felt he was watching from somewhere outside himself when Maka's angry gaze left him and rose to the location of the speaker, high on the platform a few steps above the dance floor. But even Spirit's awareness of her reaction was fading in the face of his own shock.
That voice had never before addressed him by that name, and it was startling enough to focus his attention back to his purpose in coming to the class. But not before following Maka's gaze to make sure he hadn't imagined it.
Sure enough, up next to the lectern, stood Stein, hands in his coat pockets and light shining off his glasses to further conceal what the monotone inflection was already serving to do.
Spirit straightened up where he stood, though the tension in his shoulders only increased. He looked back at Maka who was now staring at him with frustrated confusion, and then he cast his gaze over the students again. Some had stopped dancing, whether due to his mere presence or because he was standing in their way in the middle of the dance floor, he didn't know.
Embarrassment thankfully was not forthcoming, because his head was ringing with Stein's words even as his feet carried him toward the back of the room and the reason he'd come in the first place.
"Kim Diehl," he said softly, the girl and her partner already having stopped dancing upon his approach. "Lord Death wants to see you and your weapon partner in the Death Room immediately."
The two girls exchanged nervous glances, and Spirit offered a kind smile in hopes of calming them. It was intimidating enough he knew, to be approached by Death's Weapon, but to be called to see Death personally was another matter entirely. Especially for a one-star meister and weapon pair.
The girls voiced their acknowledgment and then scurried away, up the steps and out of the room. The music hadn't stopped of course, and next to the room's mirrored wall now Spirit used the glass to glance over the students who had nearly all resumed dancing, their wavelengths pushing and pulling and nudging up against his soul unbeckoned in their inexperience. His eyes found Maka again, and she continued to glare at him even as her weapon cautiously returned to her and tentatively took her hand.
Spirit frowned, but then a small glint of light drew his gaze. He shifted his eyes upward in the mirror to where Stein still stood like a statue at the front of the room but for his hand falling from where he'd adjusted his glasses. Spirit's mind was still reeling from the address by his former meister, and taking a nervous breath, he turned and walked back to the front of the dance classroom.
He pointedly avoided looking at Maka and Soul, focusing instead on the mixture of skill he could feel among the students' resonance around him. Some were erratic and barely holding together, while others were stable and increasing as they matched with the assist of the music pulsing around them. It was familiar, and a needed distraction as Spirit felt a further tensing in his shoulders when his feet reached the stairs.
He realized he could have turned, left the room with his task completed and ignored the jarring method Stein had chosen to get his attention. But just as when they were kids, just as always, he was drawn to the meister's side like a moth to a flame. And when he had finished the ascent of the few steps, he took close position at Stein's side and turned back to face the classroom, as if it was exactly where he was meant to be.
For awhile there was only the music, and the wash of so many wavelengths in the room that even a person with the weakest sixth sense couldn't be unaware. But silence wasn't Spirit's gift, and before long he broke it.
"I thought Naigus taught this class," he said, his voice barely audible above the music.
"She's out on assignment with Sid. I'm substituting," was Stein's bland, equally quiet reply.
Spirit took a step nearer the meister's side to hear him better above the music. Their shoulders were almost brushing.
"You called me Death Scythe." He turned his head slightly, but even the glimpse behind Stein's glasses through his shaggy hair gave him no information. The slightest downward turn at the corner of the meister's mouth however, was something.
"It seemed the most appropriate in front of the students."
Spirit watched Stein's mouth as he spoke, noting the slight tensing of his jaw when he finished. Stein was right; to address him either by name or by the unique epithet he often used that denoted something between affection and respect would have been too familiar. He had chosen the best option to get Spirit's attention.
But Stein had not wanted to say it.
Spirit's mind wouldn't stop racing long enough for him to complete a thought. No matter which direction it attempted to go, he kept hearing his title on Stein's tongue over and over like a wave crashing repeatedly against an ocean shore. But even within those waves, his senses were dulled.
It wasn't something they had ever talked about, and Spirit didn't think they needed to. His guilt over the matter was enough to assume whatever Stein's thoughts may be anyway.
It should have been his former meister to strike that last blow and feed him the final, necessary witch's soul to bring him to completion. It should have been Stein at his side when he had bowed before Lord Death and transformed, tremblingly falling into the Grim Reaper's hands for the first time as his newest personal weapon.
But it had been Maka's mother instead, after too many months of confusion and misunderstandings and unexpected fatherhood had him calling Kami his meister instead of the young genius whose blinding brilliance had awed him from the first day of their five years of partnership even to the present. And so Stein had never once, not even mockingly, called Spirit by the title he should have earned in the hands of the silver-haired man who now stood at his side.
Spirit had spent years burying the guilt and everything else he associated with his former meister as deeply in his soul as he could, but after their recent fight against the Demon Sword it was an ever-present buzzing in his mind, louder than Lord Death's voice or the distraction of alcohol or even the music that surrounded him now, carrying his mind back to the old days and the last time he had stood in the place of the young students before him.
He needed to apologize. For far more than allowing his ex-wife to swoop in and steal the honor that had always belonged to Stein. But as he tried to draw a breath to form the words on trembling lips, his mind shattered every beginning of a thought like waves crashing on that shore of too many memories and too much history.
A few simple words couldn't absolve him of over a decade of mistakes. And so Spirit simply stood next to the man, guilt weighing down his heart. And with the inability to anchor his mind to anything, he took to watching the students again.
He forced himself not to stare at Maka and let his gaze drift to the other young meisters and weapons he knew intimately.
Near the very center of the room was Black Star, grinning as he led his much taller weapon partner in bold, overly dramatic turns that were technically correct, but didn't match the aesthetic of the music at all. But the boy had to be the center of attention at all times, and with his antics he was definitely succeeding.
Death the Kid was hissing orders at his two weapons as the three stood side-by-side and arm-in-arm, moving in near-perfect synchronicity in some form of line dance, also not remotely following the aesthetic of the music as the son of the Grim Reaper demanded symmetry in all things, especially from his twin pistols.
Spirit couldn't help the small smile that came to his face as he watched the children he had watched grow from infancy, and his frame followed suit in beginning to relax. His gaze drifted over other students he recognized but didn't know as well—Kilik Rung and his two unique weapons, eyes closed and not even in physical contact with one another as their bodies swayed in perfect time to the rousing beat. Ox Ford and Harvar D. Éclair, dancing close and slightly awkwardly as they seemed to be quietly arguing about something. Spirit exhaled a small laugh through his nose at the familiarity as the boys seemed unable to agree upon who was leading, their knees occasionally colliding despite how well they were moving with the music.
And of course, Spirit couldn't help but bring his gaze back to the most important child in the room.
Maka wasn't looking at him when he found her again, but Soul was. The younger scythe's eyes darted away, passing around the room haphazardly until settling on Maka's face as she seemed to scold him for something. Her eyes darted up to Spirit's, and then she adjusted her step so they were dancing with her back to him. Spirit considered making eye contact through the mirror she now faced, but decided against it, instead taking in the whole of the familiar room.
Despite the variety of experience levels among the students, what music did for assisting in matching wavelengths was more than enough to have nearly all of the pairs in the room in resonance, such that Spirit could feel them as if they were reaching out to his own soul and inviting him in. He wondered what it must be like for those with soul perception, to have so much power surrounding them even as scattered as some of it was with the students who were still novices. But power it was, and rather than being distracted or put off by the chaos of it all, it had Spirit's weapon-instinct keening like it hadn't for years, further waking up a piece of him he'd forgotten until the battle against the Demon Sword.
The song on the stereo began to fade, a new one rising in volume before the first had finished. Something about the transition struck a memory in Spirit, and he was speaking before his mind had fully caught up in understanding.
"This is the same playlist."
"Yep," was Stein's reply somewhere to his right.
Spirit couldn't help another single, exhaled laugh as he shook his head.
"In almost twenty years, no one has picked different music? You'd think the kids would want something more to their taste."
"They should be able to match wavelengths with anything."
"Yes I know that," Spirit said too quickly, the words coming out with far more bite than he intended.
The guilt he felt over the brief loss of temper only made him recall everything else he'd been feeling in the presence of his former meister. After a moment, by way of silent apology Spirit took another small, shuffling step nearer. Their shoulders did touch briefly, and he felt rather than saw Stein turn to look at him.
The new song playing was a ballad in six-eight time, slower and lacking the drive of the other, but full of passion. The students had already adjusted to it and were stabilizing their resonance with the easier, more melodic tune.
Spirit remembered the song, if not its lyrics. He remembered where the phrases began and ended, how he used to move his feet to turn and navigate around others in his class to experience the fullness of the piece that others would take as a breather from the more intense options in the playlist.
Nostalgia was crashing over the guilt he felt standing next to Stein, turning it into something else that he couldn't put a name to. All he knew was that his soul felt near to bursting as the music reverberated through him, around him, and again his mouth was moving ahead of his brain as he turned to face his former meister.
"Do you—"
"Spirit—"
Stein had spoken in the same instant, had turned towards him and lifted his hands out of his coat pockets.
Spirit licked his lips as his mouth suddenly went dry. His gaze dropped to where Stein's hands hovered low between them, then back to his face. The reflection off his glasses hid his eyes, but Spirit could read enough in the slight parting of Stein's lips, the slow bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
Spirit lifted his hands and Stein moved in response. And then both looked down in unison at their mirrored pose. A soft chuckle left Spirit's lips, breaking at least some of the tension.
"Every time," he said through a grin, his voice low as visions of the past flickered through his mind. It had always been a debate as to which of them would lead, Spirit feeling it his role as the elder of the two and notably taller when they'd been kids. But Stein as the meister had argued it was definitely his role to lead the weapon.
The matter had never been settled during their academy tenure. But it was with a gentle smile reflecting Spirit's own that Stein was the one to acquiesce this time, adjusting his hands accordingly.
"You lead."
Spirit licked his lips again, but found them worse for how dry his mouth had gone. Stein was watching him, waiting, and Spirit realized he was holding his breath. He closed his eyes for just a moment, listened to the familiar music and recalled the steps he used to take. And then he opened his eyes and gently fit his hand to Stein's.
He let instinct guide him immediately into step with the music, and he lifted his chin as a shaky breath left his lips. He tried to school his face into something that matched the confidence of his movements rather than the maelstrom in his soul, but his heart was fluttering for nerves with Stein's hand resting atop his shoulder, his own fingers spread across the meister's back as he guided them in a simple pattern over the platform.
It was the first time they had danced, Spirit realized, since Stein had caught up to him in height, and there was a different feeling to it now he was able to look the man directly in the eye. There was still something unreadable in the depths of green hidden behind Stein's glasses, something Spirit had spent their entire partnership trying and failing to understand. His eyes were locked on Spirit's as they moved together, saying too much and nothing all at once, and it sent a flush of heat over the weapon's skin. But absent was the look of challenge from their youth and the hardness with which Stein greeted the rest of the world. There was something soft at the edge of his gaze; something meant only for Spirit to see.
It was while marveling at this change that Spirit realized they had a bit of an audience, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. In just the first few steps, Spirit had felt the tension in his body begin to bleed away, and a heady lightness rushed in to overwhelm his senses as his ex-partner's touch began to satisfy a craving in his soul that he hadn't even known was present until the other man's hand sought his. He let his awareness spread out beyond the pull of the green gaze in front of him to the pattern of their feet, to the swaying feel of the song around them, to the soft brushing of young soul wavelengths against his own.
The call to resonance was like swimming toward the surface of the sea from below; a call to air, a call to light. He and Stein didn't need the assist of music with their individual and combined experience, but it was drawing their souls together with a force that was almost magnetic that Spirit was struggling to resist. The yearning Spirit felt to entwine his soul with his former meister's was rapidly taking over his every sense until he suddenly realized he was forgetting to breathe. And it was then as he embarrassingly sucked in air that his focus snapped back to the present and onto Stein's face, the meister's eyes curious behind his glasses as he watched the weapon, his lips still parted.
The whole point of dancing was resonance; it didn't need to be stated. Spirit's soul was aching for it even as his body was relaxing further within their shared rhythm, and he assumed by Stein's uncharacteristic offer for connection that he was in no better state than Spirit. But the meister wouldn't cross that barrier of intimacy without permission. It was written in the brightness of his irises, in his dilated pupils, in the weight of his hand on Spirit's shoulder. And it was that simple courtesy Stein afforded him that caused Spirit to feel yet another cracking in his years of confused resolve.
"I'm sorry."
"...What?"
The words had fallen thoughtlessly from Spirit's lips, and despite how he was holding back he could feel the tension in Stein's soul rise in response.
It wasn't enough. He wasn't sure anything could ever be enough to mend their years of separation; of silence, misunderstandings and confusion, and of rejection that was ultimately unfounded and that Spirit knew he could no longer pretend was what he had wanted.
He didn't think the words existed to express how deeply he regretted the downward spiral of their final year of partnership, nearly every problem they'd struggled through the result of his own recklessness. And a true mending of those wounds, if it were even possible, couldn't happen without hours of conversation, explanation, and begging for a forgiveness that he didn't deserve.
Stein's fingers pressed lightly against Spirit's shoulder, his expression tight with unease in a way only the weapon would notice. He'd stilled after the blurted apology, their knees almost touching where they'd stopped mid-step, and he looked down at their joined hands with a sigh of despair.
It was all wrong. Everything had been wrong, for nearly fifteen years now. And the words were hardly a beginning at fixing it.
He released his hold on the meister and Stein's hands fell away instantly as if he'd been stung, followed by a soft shudder of breath. Stein tilted his head just so, causing the light to reflect off his glasses and hide his eyes. But Spirit could still see the tension along his jaw and in his neck, and his own chest was ever-tightening with the pain of want and regret.
He set his hand on Stein's shoulder and left the other upturned in the space between them. The meister's lips parted again and Spirit could feel the anxiety in the taut muscles under his fingers.
"You lead," Spirit breathed as he bowed his head low, his hair falling forward to conceal his face. His tone was unintentionally one of apology, of capitulation. And he hadn't meant to grip Stein's shoulder so hard as he waited for a response, but he felt as if some part of him would shrivel away into nothing if he didn't feel the answer of Stein's hand in his.
When he looked up, Stein was licking his lips, his brow twisted in confusion. And then with more caution than when Spirit led, he took Spirit's hand and slowly spread his fingers across the weapon's back.
Spirit sighed in slow relief as the worst of the tension seeped away when he resumed stepping with Stein in time to the music and cautiously met his eyes again. He felt bad that he had thrown the meister mentally off balance, judging by his expression. And he realized suddenly that he had indeed broken a barrier with his words, that there would need to be conversation later if he truly wanted to attempt to mend all that had been torn as his words had offered. But that thought slipped to the back of his mind as Stein led him skillfully across the platform and Spirit followed with ease, moving in remembered patterns that soothed the ache in his chest with every step.
They were closer than they had been in years, sharing heat, sharing breath. Stein's hand was pressed firmly beneath his shoulder blade, his fingers spread broadly as if by the sheer contact alone he could reclaim Spirit as part of himself, take his soul back and become again what they were always supposed to be.
Spirit didn't know if it was the nostalgia of the music and the familiar dance motivating him. He didn't know if it was the eager young wavelengths nudging up against his. He didn't know if it was the foreign but familiar feeling of Stein's hand, inviting him in even as the other hesitated to pull him close. But it was the hope veiled deep within green eyes that was finally Spirit's undoing as the song reached its bridge.
"Stein," Spirit sighed, his brow twisting as he allowed himself to let go and simply be.
The meister, to all appearances, had always taken care of business efficiently and without ceremony no matter what he had been tasked with. He was adept in all things, and one ever took a second look at his work nor at the man himself, knowing the job would be completed.
It was only Spirit who had ever been privy to the man's moments of grace.
In the same breath, the weapon fell in closer with the meister's suddenly elegant step as they continued in both practiced patterns and new, crossing the platform with hurried strides in response to the desire of their souls. Spirit's eyes fluttered closed as his chest pressed to Stein's, fitting warm against him as he was led around in circles, the insides of their knees brushing repeatedly as they moved with an ease that could only come with practiced and perfect synchrony.
Spirit's lashes rose when he felt Stein's soft sigh on his cheek, and mere inches away now he locked eyes with the man. For a moment he was lost in the intensity—the open, unblinking astonishment with which Stein was staring back at him. And then Spirit broadened his attention to the weight of the dark circles under Stein's eyes, the slight wrinkling of his forehead he could see past his hair as confusion remained one of his dominant emotions.
Despite Spirit's allowing the meister to lead, despite how close they were physically, Stein still refused to take anything that Spirit wasn't explicitly offering. And Spirit's heart ached for the knowing of one another that had been lost with time, lost when he had abandoned their resonance and drawn a hard line between them.
Spirit knew what he needed to do.
It wasn't that it was difficult; in fact he was surprised he had avoided being in resonance with Stein thus far as they danced with greater freedom, following the music's rise and fall and responding to its passions more than they commanded their steps.
It was that it wasn't necessary.
This wasn't a battle where they needed to be in sync to complete a task. This would be a resonance simply for its own sake, for them, to bring them closer. And it was for that reason that Stein wasn't allowing their souls to slip together into that unity so pure that it would be near impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended.
Spirit missed it. Had needed it for over a decade, and had denied himself for reasons he couldn't begin to consider in that moment with Stein's hand in his, his arm around him and fingers clutching his flesh through his jacket almost painfully, as if to let go in that moment would be to let go forever.
The music demanded a spin, and with sweating fingers tightening on his own Stein released Spirit's back so that he spun out and away, the toe of his outer shoe pointing on the beat of the song before he almost immediately twirled back to fit his body to the meister's again. His eyes scarcely left Stein's as he turned, and when they came back together he stopped, set his forehead to Stein's and felt the heat of their breath mingle.
Words weren't possible, because the correct ones didn't exist. But as the song approached its final chorus Spirit let go of thought with the last thread of resistance in his mind and reached out with his soul wavelength.
The air around them sang as it began vibrating with power at the first hint of connection. He briefly caught the scent of smoke with Stein's abrupt inhale of startled response, and then awareness slipped away from his human senses as he instinctively transformed, and the imposing form of a scythe took presence with magical light.
Electricity danced across his wavelength, coursing wildly around him and through him and over the shape of Stein's soul as it engulfed him. Their resonance erupted with such power that Spirit was sure the room would be set aflame, and as he fit his soul into the overwhelming strength of Stein's he felt like he could breathe again for the first time in a long time.
It had all happened in an instant, but time felt slowed as for a moment he was falling, heat and power surrounding him as their wavelengths aligned. And then before he could draw a second breath, he was in the meister's hands again.
Stein had never been one for elegance in battle, either, favoring brutality when the opportunity allowed. But Spirit remembered well their practice sessions that occurred in private, away from their classmates and away from any threat. Even without music it had felt like dancing, the way Stein twirled him 'round and 'round, and that was the foundation of the first sweeping turn the meister made now with the scythe on the platform.
Spirit felt the air warm as it rushed across his blade, and he let go his sense of self at the same time he followed Stein's lead. They were still moving in time to the music, but Stein was the one spinning now and Spirit with him. He relaxed into Stein's hands as he was lifted and skillfully turned around the meister's neck, the weight of the staff falling on Stein's shoulder so he could follow the momentum of his turn. And just for a moment, as they moved in unison and the room blurred before his eyes, it was as if he was floating, his self maintained only by the melding of his soul with Stein's.
But then, before he could even take a breath in the strange way that metal breathed, he felt himself falling, his blade moving in a sharp curve toward the floor. He was caught just in time and swept up and out before he picked up on the pattern and was fairly soaring, so close to the ceiling he could have seen the entire room had he looked, and then he was spinning and falling again, the speed at which Stein turned him vibrating his staff even as he was kept under complete control.
His focus fell to the strength and confidence of Stein's hands as they alternately gripped and released him, slid down to extend the staff or gripped him firmly and moved him with power and utmost control. Spirit sighed into the peace the meister's touch brought him, something that could only come from the implicit trust borne of years of resonance. And he did trust Stein, Spirit realized. After everything that had happened in the past and all the conversations that still needed having, he realized there was no one he trusted more.
This assurance sent a fresh rush of sound across their joined wavelengths, and it was he who guided the next passionate swing of the blade that brought him sweeping out in power over the platform before he was rapidly spun again. He would never get over the feeling of flying when he was within Stein's hands, but, as he listened to the nostalgic music he knew it was time to come in for a landing. The song they'd been dancing to was reaching its close, and their indulgence was taking away from the class of students.
Stein knew it too, and after one more graceful twirl with Spirit spinning above his head, rather than release him Stein brought the end of the staff down and planted it in front of him. For a moment, Spirit felt the heat of shuddering breaths against his blade; was certain he heard his name whispered in affection before the next song on the playlist rose in volume to hide any words that may be shared between them.
Spirit's back was to the students when he transformed, staying right where he was so that the fingers of one of his hands wove together with Stein's as his human form took shape again. But the applause of the younger meisters and weapons over the exhibition was a mere backdrop to the look in Stein's eyes that overwhelmed his senses even more than the dance.
They were still in resonance, as Spirit felt his own soul would surely be lost if not connected to Stein's, and Stein's fingers gripping his waist spoke as much of the reciprocal need the meister felt for him as did the yearning in his depths of green eyes—an almost pleading hope as he stood trembling before the death scythe and barely breathing.
Spirit's free hand had landed on Stein's chest when he transformed, and he slid it slowly up to Stein's shoulder where he dug his fingers into tight muscle, feeling the strength hidden beneath soft clothing. Stein's breath hitched in response, and Spirit let his eyes close to hide something of himself away from the hope and raw desire in the meister's gaze. He released his grip to let his hand move further, curling around the back of Stein's neck until his fingertips brushed the ends of his hair. Stein's skin was cool to the touch even with the thin sheen of sweat that had risen from exertion, and Spirit could feel the rapid race of his pulse as he let his thumb settle against the meister's throat.
His forehead came forward, hit Stein's with slightly more force than intended and not aligned quite right. But it suited him as he leaned closer to whisper, his upper lip just brushing Stein's cheekbone under his glasses as he spoke.
"I need to talk to you. Later."
Spirit didn't move until he felt the answer of breath against his own cheek, a sigh of acceptance that eased his soul before he heard the words.
"All right."
Spirit didn't know which of them was shaking more, but it was with great effort that he took a step back and slowly, they both let go their desperate holds on the other. The applause on the dance floor below had died down and Spirit realized that something of an acknowledgement was necessary.
As he put on his celebrity smile he began to feel the gentle, hesitant retreat of Stein's wavelength from his own. He wanted to cling to it, but he had been selfish enough in the past several minutes. And as much as their souls spoke for them, he couldn't deny that a great many words were still necessary.
Spirit took in a slow breath, another, until he felt steady on his feet again and finally turned. He flashed the prepared smile to the crowd of awed and somewhat confused students, and he couldn't help but hope they would all find the type of resonance someday that he had found in his five years of partnership.
Then, his eyes ghosted over Maka. And it was with an abrupt realization that he ungracefully retreated from the touch of Stein's wavelength as he considered the subconscious thread of his thoughts. A myriad of emotions coursed through him, anxiety briefly dominating the embarrassment as he vehemently protested the idea of his little girl ever being in such close resonance with anyone.
Maka was looking up at him curiously, not angry at his existence for once, and Spirit tried to calm the sudden pounding of his heart. He turned back to look at Stein behind him who had been understandably startled by the abrupt change, and then gently nudged the edge of his wavelength against the meister's in unspoken apology.
"Sorry," he said under his breath, and then looked back to Maka. She was still gazing at him in perplexity, and Spirit felt his embarrassment rise again as he considered the spectacle he'd made of himself in front of her and the other students. He glanced over his shoulder again and spoke quickly. "See you later."
And with that, he hurriedly crossed the platform and made his way to the door, eager to be away from the music and the raw emotion that was surging through the room, most powerfully from his meister.
When Spirit let his hand rest heavy on the doorknob he couldn't help but pause and look back, the wavelength he knew as well as his own still pulling at the edges of his.
Stein had taken a seat in the single chair on the platform in his usual way, legs spread around its back and awkwardly hunched over for how tall he was. His arms were folded across the top of the chair and his chin was rested behind his forearms, so his face was concealed by white sleeves and the fall of his hair. But as Spirit took another moment, he watched green eyes slowly slide to meet his, and he could just see the upward curl of Stein's lips from behind his arms.
Spirit couldn't help but echo the meister's smile, and then he felt a cautious but definite wave of pleasure ripple across his wavelength. A flush rose on his cheeks, and with one last glance at the students he hurried to leave the room and get away from more unashamed passion than he'd experienced in over a decade.
He desperately needed a drink. Or, he thought wryly, perhaps a cold shower.
He had a lot to think about.
------------------
Soul felt even more relief at Death Scythe's exit than he had at the cessation of his and the professor's dance. It had reminded him of their remedial test against Dr. Stein and the sheer power the man wielded within his wavelength, except it had been even more evident when he resonated with Lord Death's weapon. The air had hummed the entire time with their joint frequency, and it overwhelmed the room with an electric energy that demanded attention.
He was considering asking Maka if she'd watched with her soul perception, curious what such a powerful resonance would look like, but Kilik's voice cutting through the music changed the course of his thoughts.
"Hey, Black Star... Twenty bucks says Death Scythe is waiting for the nutty professor after class," their friend said, elbowing the snickering boy.
"No way!" Black Star replied. "I don't wanna lose my money!"
"Soul," Maka said, and he glanced at her confused expression as her eyes remained on the professor. Soul glanced up to see the man hadn't moved since sitting down and his half-lidded gaze remained on the closed door. "What are they talking about?"
"Come on guys," Tsubaki said quietly, leaning down to lower her voice. "That's not really respectful."
"I'll take that bet," Soul piped up, walking the few steps to join them.
"All right!" Kilik said, giving him a high five.
"I don't get it," Maka said, frowning.
Black Star and Kilik looked from Maka to one another and then struggled to stifle guffaws. Behind them, Kid, who had resumed dancing with Liz and Patty, was shaking his head and had adopted a mildly perturbed frown.
"Your lack of respect for soul resonance disgusts me."
Soul could just see Harvar nodding in agreement a little further from the group, also having resumed dancing with Ox. He schooled his face into something that gained a look of approval from the young reaper, though the warning was still present, and he turned away from his fellow conspirators to attempt to refocus.
"Soul, I don't understand," Maka continued. "Why would they bet on whether or not Papa is waiting for Professor Stein?"
Soul stared at her frustrated, genuinely confused expression for a moment. How could she not understand? Or perhaps she didn't want to.
He sighed and offered her his hand again, and she closed the distance between them. He ignored the rush he felt when her hand rested atop his shoulder and stepped back into time with the music—a jazz piece now to which they easily found a rhythm.
"Soul?"
He sighed and glanced at their joined hands.
"The same reason your old man doesn't want to see us dancing."
"Huh?"
Soul looked back up and grinned as he spun her away, following the music, and reached out for her soul with his.
#soul eater#soul eater fanfiction#franken stein#spirit albarn#steinspirit#spiritstein#stein x spirit#spirit x stein#soul eater gift exchange#maka albarn#CrossStitch#cold nights warm hearts#soul evans#black star#tsubaki nakatsukasa#death the kid#kim diehl#harvar d. eclair#ox ford#liz thompson#patty thompson#jacqueline o'lantern dupre#did i spell that right#oh well#stein#spirit#death scythe#we didn't say if we have a tag for this in the server#grigori wings
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