Threw out a quick sorta-redraw Soul Eater because I need to remember how to draw humans every few weeks. Every reference I could find of Soul without his headband had his hair drawn completely differently so hopefully it’s mildly close to hair he actually has.
JK Rowling’s new update about Harry, Ron, Hermione, and friends.
Let it all out, let it all out
You don’t have to think your heart is made of steel
I’ve had this song in my head for two days, needed to draw :O
id imagine maka having one of her tantrums and soul gets fed up and does this
OH SURE WHY NOT
guess what I started re-watching
Prince Vegeta and babies
*explodes from the cute*
He can’t look them in the eye when they come, with their boxes and their tape and their complete and utter disregard for the things they touch. Soul wants to shout at them, wants to scream and yell and kick them all out and slam the door behind them.
But he can’t.
He’s known for a while that he can’t stay here. It’s too big now, and rent’s too high, and…it’s driving him crazy. Everything, literally everything in the apartment has something extra attached to it. He can’t look at the scratch on the coffee table without remembering the time when he was thirteen and still trying to master single-blade manifestation (he’d summoned one a little too long and ended up gouging the wood of the brand new coffee table). That was when he first learned what a hardback spine felt like against a skull.
Speaking of…he ducks into her room, stares up at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that line one wall. “Separate these,” he tells one of the packers. “They’re mine.”
The man looks at him in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you’ve read all these books?”
"No," Soul says. "But I’m working on it."
And he is, little by little. Soul had never been one for reading, but he had also never been one to give up. The Scarlet Letter gives him a headache and Catch-22 is downright tedious, but To Kill a Mockingbird is unexpectedly good and The Catcher in the Rye strikes a chord in him that makes him think he understands why these books line her walls.
Now they’ll line his.
He hears them moving around in the apartment behind him, shoving things into boxes without any thought for who they belong to. But it’s alright. Soul has his own box tucked into the corner of his room, separated from all the others. It’s not labeled because there isn’t a word in the English language that can label what lies inside. But he knows what it contains, and that’s all he needs.
In the end, there are five new boxes added to his pile. They’re heavy and they’re unwieldy, but Soul carries all five of them down the stairs with nary a word.
It’s cold in his new apartment. It’s cold and it’s small and it smells a little like paint. He hates it, but he can’t go back to the one place he wants to be, because it’ll kill him.
After the last box hits the floor with a thud, Soul kneels down and peels off the tape. Colorful dust jackets greet him, and for a moment, he falters. He’s going to read every single one of them, yes, but sometimes it’s hard when he can remember a different pair of hands holding them.
He plucks one from the top and flips through it at random. Neat, tiny lettering lines the margins, pointing out phrases and lines that had particularly struck the reader. Soul skims over them, drinking in her words like a struggling alcoholic.
The last line is underlined: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
Underneath it, Maka had penned, Need to maintain balance? Shouldn’t let yourself get swept away, but can’t fight forever.
He finds himself agreeing with her words, but it is so hard to follow them. Flipping the book shut, he turns it over to read the title: The Great Gatsby.
Newest book in hand, he slumps onto his bed, ignoring the creak of the naked mattress beneath him. He begins to read, and as he reads, her voice echoes in his mind, reading out her notes and accompanying him as he dives into the pages.
Her notes are her life, packed between paper and carrying the precious weight of her words, her thoughts, her ideas. She’s pressed between the pages of her books, like a flower preserved long past the day it was plucked.
In these pages, she lives a little longer.
It’s not enough.
Thanks for the prompt! <3
Holy Death - she could feel him back there.
She didn’t know exactly how to label their relationship. They hadn’t tried yet. She was pretty sure spooning on the couch was not considered a platonic activity, but they hadn’t talked anything over. Or gone any further. They hadn’t even kissed. Is there a proper order to kissing and spooning? Had they done something backwards?
The first evening, they had fallen asleep this way on the couch. He had kept her so warm and happy she hadn’t wanted to get a blanket; they were almost late for class the next morning and he complained about his arm falling asleep (it was because he had it wrapped around her all night).
But the next evening, he had done exactly the same thing. Sidled up to her gradually, put his arm around her, leaned over to hint that he wanted to lie down. Maka had taken some satisfaction in the disappointed look he wore when she got up to subtly set an alarm so they wouldn’t have to worry about it, but it also made her rush back.
Sleeping in their day clothes was uncomfortable, though, so in a kind of unspoken agreement, both put on some nightclothes before sitting down to relax for the evening this time. It was different without the thick, durable, slightly starchy fabric of more “proper” clothes.
The shapes of their bodies flowed together so much more neatly.
And now she could feel Soul’s arousal pressed against her rear. She’d been horny before, but it was in no way like the feeling this inspired. Perhaps it was the closeness.
When she turned around enough to gauge his expression, he was already bright red (though judging from the heat in her cheeks, she was not looking any more relaxed). He immediately shrugged in the sideways manner of people who are lying down. “Sorry,” he whispered.
"No, it’s okay, but is that…real?"
"I…uh…what does that mean…?"
"Do you really feel that way?"
Soul glanced away from her eyes - later she would realize he’d been looking at her lips. “I do, but it doesn’t matter so don’t worry about it,” he answered at last.
"What if I like it?" she asked.
"Oh. Then uh…"
She tilted her head to meet his kiss.