[ SE ] take a breath.
take a breath
maka albarn, soul/maka
pre-series. they are made into soldiers too young.
She swings the scythe in her hands, feeling her power flow through him to the tip of the weapon. The bitter taste of bloodlust sits on her tongue, passing from the weapon to the technician. She raises Soul in her fingertips to deliver the final blow. The human monster is terrified and frozen and suddenly everything does not go right when there's a civilian child mere inches away from the enemy. It's a snap realisation, a sudden seizing in her chest when she sees the monster's attention shift. There is screaming and crying and each sound rips through her, stutters her movements -
Soul shouts her name and she hesitates, the human fear in the monster's eyes painfully recognisable, and she swings Soul down just a second too late.
The girl crumples like a ragdoll, sliced open and bloodied. The mother falls to her knees and she is crying out injustices and blame and why didn't you stop him?
Soul is in his human form beside her. He kneels beside the human girl with the deadened, glazed eyes and only confirms to her mother that her daughter has passed away eighty years too early. He doesn't look at Maka, because maybe he's afraid that he'll see the same dead expression on her face and maybe because he does not know what to do. But he stands, brushes her fingers in a weak attempt in comfort and pretends that it is enough.
Mechanically, she calls the Shinigami and Soul is the one to explain what happens.
Dr. Stein and Maka's father arrive at the scene minutes later, but all that's left is a child warrior, a broken mother and a corpse left to bury.
When they reach their apartment, Maka goes straight to her room and locks the door behind her. Soul is left with a heavy silence and an empty space where she had been. He walks to her door, raises one fist and almost knocks on it, but then stops, turns away, and goes to his own room. There is nothing to say, no speeches of cowards and running from fear because she's not the only one who failed.
In his room, everything is where he left it. There are old clothes draped over the chair in the corner, a messy stack of books in the corner, but his bed is made and it's the only thing remotely perfect in the pig sty he calls his room. A glittering card peeks out and he takes it out, eyes wandering over the heart and flower doodles and angel wins and loopy, round letters with the 'i's dotted a little too enthusiastically.
It's Maka's, he realises, and it isn't supposed to be in his room and he wonders how it got there in the first place. That little realisation is shoved from his mind when another pops in its place -
Maka Albarn is a girl barely in her teens, with innocent aspirations and dreams of a fairytale ending.
She is a technician, she is a meister, she is a fighter, and sometimes he forgets this. He forgets the cheesy romance novels she used to stay up late reading all night, forgets the way she glows when someone compliments her and forgets why she gets angry at the mention of her non-existent chest. She is stubborn and naive and oblivious and still a child, too young to be fighting in wars of insanity.
She was born a weapon technician and would have ended up one in the end, even if she hadn't wanted it.
Soul closes his eyes and holds the card with a surprising amount of tenderness, wishing that he was the kind of person with solutions and wishing that he could help.
There is a never-ending pool of red flowing down the sink. Maka scrubs her hands almost savagely, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing until there is no blood staining her skin. Her hands are shaking violently, uncontrollably, and she finds herself turning the water searing hot to try to stop them. Her face remains carefully blank, because that is what she is trained to do.
Don't let the fear overwhelm you, because insanity will follow soon after. Don't let your fear show, because the enemy will gain more confidence. Don't let your emotions give anything away, because there will be consequences.
This is what Maka tells herself, a silent chant in her mind. But despite all of that, she still thinks of the little girl with the pigtails and missing front teeth and how her mother grieved for a daughter she barely got to know. She still thinks of the weapon - it's Soul, she reminds herself, Soul - in her hands and how she uses it to protect, and this time she only manages to murder. She still thinks of the ten souls they managed to get before this one and wonders how many of them she'd reached too late, and how the redness of the souls remind her of blood and murder and despair and -
Suddenly the water is ice cold against her raw-skinned hands and Soul is there before she can blink. He does not speak, only uncurls her fists gently and lets the liquid soothe the burns. He meets her blank gaze with a calm and steady one and finds her composure crumbling before she can stop it. When she looks down, she sees that his hands are trembling, the only sign that she isn't the only one affected, that she is not the only one who falls.
"Soul, I... today, I -"
He looks at her. "I know."
Maka bites her lip. Soul is not one for whispering sweet, comforting words, for compliments and exaggerated descriptions because she knows it will not be cool for him to do so, and he does not tell her that everything is okay and everything is fine because it isn't and Maka is not the only one at fault.
But his fingers gently whisper across her skin and squeeze hers gently and slowly, slowly, he pieces her back together, and she tries to do the same.
maka albarn, soul/maka
pre-series. they are made into soldiers too young.
She swings the scythe in her hands, feeling her power flow through him to the tip of the weapon. The bitter taste of bloodlust sits on her tongue, passing from the weapon to the technician. She raises Soul in her fingertips to deliver the final blow. The human monster is terrified and frozen and suddenly everything does not go right when there's a civilian child mere inches away from the enemy. It's a snap realisation, a sudden seizing in her chest when she sees the monster's attention shift. There is screaming and crying and each sound rips through her, stutters her movements -
Soul shouts her name and she hesitates, the human fear in the monster's eyes painfully recognisable, and she swings Soul down just a second too late.
The girl crumples like a ragdoll, sliced open and bloodied. The mother falls to her knees and she is crying out injustices and blame and why didn't you stop him?
Soul is in his human form beside her. He kneels beside the human girl with the deadened, glazed eyes and only confirms to her mother that her daughter has passed away eighty years too early. He doesn't look at Maka, because maybe he's afraid that he'll see the same dead expression on her face and maybe because he does not know what to do. But he stands, brushes her fingers in a weak attempt in comfort and pretends that it is enough.
Mechanically, she calls the Shinigami and Soul is the one to explain what happens.
Dr. Stein and Maka's father arrive at the scene minutes later, but all that's left is a child warrior, a broken mother and a corpse left to bury.
When they reach their apartment, Maka goes straight to her room and locks the door behind her. Soul is left with a heavy silence and an empty space where she had been. He walks to her door, raises one fist and almost knocks on it, but then stops, turns away, and goes to his own room. There is nothing to say, no speeches of cowards and running from fear because she's not the only one who failed.
In his room, everything is where he left it. There are old clothes draped over the chair in the corner, a messy stack of books in the corner, but his bed is made and it's the only thing remotely perfect in the pig sty he calls his room. A glittering card peeks out and he takes it out, eyes wandering over the heart and flower doodles and angel wins and loopy, round letters with the 'i's dotted a little too enthusiastically.
It's Maka's, he realises, and it isn't supposed to be in his room and he wonders how it got there in the first place. That little realisation is shoved from his mind when another pops in its place -
Maka Albarn is a girl barely in her teens, with innocent aspirations and dreams of a fairytale ending.
She is a technician, she is a meister, she is a fighter, and sometimes he forgets this. He forgets the cheesy romance novels she used to stay up late reading all night, forgets the way she glows when someone compliments her and forgets why she gets angry at the mention of her non-existent chest. She is stubborn and naive and oblivious and still a child, too young to be fighting in wars of insanity.
She was born a weapon technician and would have ended up one in the end, even if she hadn't wanted it.
Soul closes his eyes and holds the card with a surprising amount of tenderness, wishing that he was the kind of person with solutions and wishing that he could help.
There is a never-ending pool of red flowing down the sink. Maka scrubs her hands almost savagely, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing until there is no blood staining her skin. Her hands are shaking violently, uncontrollably, and she finds herself turning the water searing hot to try to stop them. Her face remains carefully blank, because that is what she is trained to do.
Don't let the fear overwhelm you, because insanity will follow soon after. Don't let your fear show, because the enemy will gain more confidence. Don't let your emotions give anything away, because there will be consequences.
This is what Maka tells herself, a silent chant in her mind. But despite all of that, she still thinks of the little girl with the pigtails and missing front teeth and how her mother grieved for a daughter she barely got to know. She still thinks of the weapon - it's Soul, she reminds herself, Soul - in her hands and how she uses it to protect, and this time she only manages to murder. She still thinks of the ten souls they managed to get before this one and wonders how many of them she'd reached too late, and how the redness of the souls remind her of blood and murder and despair and -
Suddenly the water is ice cold against her raw-skinned hands and Soul is there before she can blink. He does not speak, only uncurls her fists gently and lets the liquid soothe the burns. He meets her blank gaze with a calm and steady one and finds her composure crumbling before she can stop it. When she looks down, she sees that his hands are trembling, the only sign that she isn't the only one affected, that she is not the only one who falls.
"Soul, I... today, I -"
He looks at her. "I know."
Maka bites her lip. Soul is not one for whispering sweet, comforting words, for compliments and exaggerated descriptions because she knows it will not be cool for him to do so, and he does not tell her that everything is okay and everything is fine because it isn't and Maka is not the only one at fault.
But his fingers gently whisper across her skin and squeeze hers gently and slowly, slowly, he pieces her back together, and she tries to do the same.