#soulxmaka week

[soulxmakaweek]

Now accepting theme suggestions!

Yep, that's right. Your eyeballs aren't deceiving you. SoulxMakaWeek is back for 2023!

We’re now accepting theme suggestions for this year's event! Feel free to send as many themes as you’d like via our ask box or submission box starting today, January 27th *finger guns* Themes are preferably one to two words - look at our master list for reference and browse previous years' SoMa content!

Stand by for more announcements and a schedule!

[justanotherfanwriter]

devotion

something for @soulxmakaweek I saw the first prompt was devotion and ran with this Bad!Ending au I came up with. It's an idea I'd want to flesh out more, but I feel this is okay for a prompt week! :)

fair warning this is a one-sided soulxmaka fic, but I love when devotion turns into an unreciprocated obsession. So, expect angst.

t/w: gore, violence, murder (but at the very end)

-------------------------------------------------------------

Maka wasn’t the same after the moon, though, to be fair, none of them were. She hid it well, the slight shift in her personality, the distant stares, her moon bathing. Soul only knew because he heard the way she cried at night when he was stuck fighting his own demons that never quite went away, tucked in the shadowy recesses of his mind, begging, pleading, to come out.

If insomnia hadn’t plagued him, he would have believed all of her heroic puffery, the way she stood at Kid’s side, proud against his naysayers, and her belief in the change they were set to make after the battle on the moon.

The way her gaze flickered to the moon was just a trick of the eye if he didn’t know the way she cried.

She lasted three weeks—and so did he—before she cried herself sick, and he found her in their shared bathroom, her head in the toilet, retching up mucus and lingering specks of black blood. No words were spoken between them as he grabbed her hair and held it for her.

She was sick until the sun came up, and when they fell back against the bathroom wall, sitting together on the floor, tired but not sleeping, she finally spoke, voice cracking, “I just want them back.”

She didn’t say their name, but he knew she was referring to Crona. It was the way she had said them as if said with reverence, referring to a god and not the monster their friend had become. No, them was not used to symbolize the thousands that had lost their lives, but the one who had sacrificed theirs for them all.

The sound of her voice pierced his heart, breaking it in two, confirming everything he had dreaded, and knew, and ignored, and he fought hard against the lump in his throat because that was how he spoke of her, and he understood what it meant.

He wouldn’t be getting what he wanted, but that didn’t matter, did it? He had made a promise a long time ago, hadn’t he? When he said they wouldn’t be like her parents. Of course, liking her had never been the plan—nothing had gone to plan—but he wasn’t the kind of guy to go back on his word.

“What? You’ve already given up?” He said to the tile floor, speaking gruffly as he swallowed his tears. He stood up, offering her his hand, “Don’t be stupid. We’ll get them back. I promise.” 

“How?” She stared up at him, her hand hesitating above his own. She looked drained and defeated and every bit as heartbroken as he felt, staring down at her.

“Why are you asking me?” He snorted, rolling his eyes, envying someone trapped on the moon, “You’re the smart one, remember? I’m just the guy who saves your ass when shit hits the fan. So do what smart people do, okay?” He took her hand and yanked her to her feet, “Go read a book.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Maka took his advice very seriously. Textbooks, tomes, manuscripts, scrolls (cursed and uncursed), newspapers, academic journals, and stray internet conspiracies she had printed out littered every free inch of their apartment dedicated to the Gods, the Occult, and Madness. She worked tirelessly, leaving no stone unturned.

From the little spot she had left him at the kitchen table, he’d stare at the sheer volumes of books with wonder. They were like a fungus that only continued to grow. Even his bedroom was unsafe from them. There was a time, years ago now, when her book hoarding was a point of contention between them, and he had forced her to sell a few for extra cash. That had been before she had met Crona. Now, he wouldn’t even dream of it. Sometimes her books were the only thing that kept her going. Not even he could rouse her from her grief anymore.

As the years progressed, Maka had only become more desperate. The world around her had moved on from Madness, adjusting to their new normal, which now included witches, a few werewolves, and one black moon.

Except for him, of course.

He had a few romantic partners in the years that followed the War on the Moon in a self-antagonizing quest to be rid of Maka. It didn’t work. At one point, he was gone for two years. He left without a single word, and when he came back, he was surprised to find she hadn’t even noticed his absence, while he, on the other hand, noticed every single second.

She had smiled up at him from a circle of books like he had only popped out to run a few pointless errands, and his heart had ripped apart and stitched itself back together again in seconds. He looked around their cluttered apartment and asked if she had seen Blair.

“Uh, I haven’t,” She blinked, “but let me read you this. I think…it may be something.”

“When did Blair leave?”

Maka twirled her finger in one of her disheveled, matted pigtails, reading the passage out loud around the pencil eraser she was chewing. She didn’t bother to answer his question. In fact, she acted as if it had never been asked. The most he could hope was that the cat had made it out alive, that he wouldn’t find her buried under a pile of books.

He never did find out what happened to Blair in the two years he was gone. Instead, he sighed, pushed the kitten out of his mind, and slumped his bag down to the floor before turning to pick up the spoiled plates of food she had piled and misplaced on the stacks of books.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let Maka die this way. So, he didn’t leave again. He stayed.

----------------------------------------------------------

Kid wasn’t the only god people prayed to, though obviously, he was well worshipped. There were many gods and goddesses that had domains in this world. Some governed over concepts like death, their only absolute order in the chaos of life, other gods represented the seasons.

Some were equated to the Moon.

Maka had become the Moon’s most zealous follower. Every new moon, she paid tribute, lightening candles and whispering prayers. Swirling clouds of incense would fill their apartment, turning her into an ethereal misty mirage.

Maka didn’t make the same tributes to Kid, but this didn’t offend their Death Lord. It wasn’t uncommon for Kid to turn sacrifices, precious goods, and money away. Sometimes Death was a blessing, but he preferred letting nature run its course.  He was only interested in the people that defied him.

It always boggled Soul’s mind that Kid was a friend and still his timeless enemy, but in the end, what did it matter? He wasn’t afraid of Kid. His demons lived in his head, not on a clock, whispering insane circumstances, trying their hardest to draw him back into the black room. He resisted, but nights were still hard, listening to her cry over the moon.  

His friends were more supportive of Maka’s religious obsession. Tsubaki still lit a candle at her brother’s altar for the moon without fail every evening. Black*Star thanked the shadows when she was in earshot. Patty and Liz would occasionally moon bathe with her to keep her company. Kid couldn’t do much without disturbing the power balance between all things, but he didn’t chastise her when she used DWMA resources to further her research.  

Soul, on the other hand, did not participate in her religious endeavors. It was his one act of defiance against her, and if his friends noticed, they never said anything.  

Soul prayed to a different goddess entirely. She was a sound. A “G” note. Solid and reliable and there. If he prayed hard enough, maybe the mirage of her, the ghost of her, haunting these halls filled with books and eye-stinging smoke, would become solid again, forced out of the shadows of the moon and back into the sun where she belonged.

Thoughts of that once-sunny girl consumed him when he stared at the moon priestess on top of their apartment roof. She was whispering a mantra to the rock above them as she held her hands out in prayer. She looked so delicate, bathed in the rays of the weak moonlight that still penetrated the black shroud covering its face, that if he reached out to graze his fingertips down the spine of her back, he was afraid his hand would pass right through.

Instead, he watched her from the stairs, memorizing the lines of her, the sharp angles, and soft curves, remembering when she was once brighter than the sun.

----------------------------------------------------

There was a monk who, according to legend, knew all things. Kid had heard of him once, stating that his father had spoken of the man with venom in his voice. A rare mortal who had defied death and gotten away with it. He knew nothing more, or rather, he disclosed nothing more and, with remorse in his eyes, turned Maka away when she begged.

She, along with Black*Star, was still his best agent. Her obsession to free Crona had spurred her up the ranks of the DWMA Agents, allowing her more access to classified information. He, of course, followed after her.

When Kid turned his back on them, she cursed his name and left in a storm of rage. This wasn’t abnormal. She oscillated between denial, anger, and depression, and bargained whatever she could to gain favors, holy or unholy. Acceptance, he noticed, was never in the queue.

She pulled a few of those favors she had long since gained and found the Monk Who Knew All Things. Soul had never doubted her ability to do so, but it seemed that others hadn’t either. A group, a splinter cell of some sort, had been watching and waiting, allowing her to do the hard part and crack the code, and then swooped in at the last second to steal her prize.  

It was futile on their part. Together, he and Maka cut the group of men down without hesitation, and Soul enjoyed the sick feeling of them being sliced open. The black blood sang, and the room came nearer, but he had learned to ignore its call, focusing only on Maka and what she needed.

A blood bath laid in their wake, and resting upon a rock, waited the monk. His beard was well-trimmed but long. He was old but not frail. And in his eyes was the sweetest sorrow Soul had ever beheld.

He stayed as a scythe as Maka explained herself and her righteous cause.

“Tell me,” She begged, falling to her knees. He slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground. He no longer complained when she did that, instead mourning only the loss of her touch. He could have transformed back into a human, but because she had not requested he do so, he stayed as a scythe within hand reach.

“Please,” She continued to plead, “how? How do I free them?”

The old man thought for a moment, staring up at the Black Moon, “It used to be such a lovely sight.”

“It still is,” Maka sneered. “Now, tell me. I saved your life; you owe me that much.”

His gaze fell back to her, and he sighed, “There’s nothing a mortal like yourself can do. This is a job of a god. Of divinity.”

This chilled his blood and reminded him of a recent conversation he had with Tsubaki prior to their trip. She had grasped him by the elbow and stared at him seriously with more authority than he had ever had the pleasure of seeing in her.

“Then, I’ll become a god,” Maka hissed, nonplussed by this revelation. “Tell me how.”

“I know that look in her, Soul.” Tsubaki had stated, “I’ve seen it in Black*Star—”

“You already know,” The Man Who Knew All Things said with a sad shake of his head, “and I beg that you do not follow this path.”

“It’s too late for that,” Maka spoke softly with tears in her eyes. “I promised them I would get them back.”

Madness was an interesting concept. Power, greed, order, grief. Just about anything could drive someone mad, and with the lingering pulses of Asura still permeating their atmosphere, Maka was—had been—at her breaking point. Once a beacon of human endurance, even she had lost herself in something.

Though he was still a scythe and could not see the look in her eye from the ground where he lay, he could feel the energy of her soul through their wave link singing a broken, mournful tune. It awoke something deep in him, and his soul began to reach out, harmonizing every other broken note as something dark pounded on the locked door in his mind.

“—she is going somewhere you cannot follow—” Tsubaki had warned him.

He had no time to react when Maka snatched him from his place on the ground and brought him down on the Man Who Knew All Things.

“Maka! No!” Was all he could cry as his blade caught the old man’s neck, slicing it clean off. She let go of him, and he went flying away, innocent blood staining his blade as he again clattered to the ground.

It was silent as the head of the monk rolled to a stop before her, and as he transformed back into his body, she covered her mouth in horror and shock, falling back to her knees with a horrible moan before crying out mantras and prayers to her Moon and its inhabitant, pleading for mercy and forgiveness, and a way to get Crona back.

He only felt sick. He had no prayers to whisper. Maka, his beloved, dearest Maka, had just committed the worst taboo. She had reaped a pure soul, one not on the Shinigami's List, and she had used him to do so. They had defied Death himself, and Soul knew Kid would not forgive her, not for this.

He should have run, like the coward he knew he was, but as tears streaked down his own face, he stayed. He had made a promise like that to her once, hadn’t he?

Tsubaki’s voice continued to echo in his head, “—and you will lose yourself entirely if you do not resist her.”

He sucked in a breath and knew their friend was right. A decision had to be made, but unfortunately, as he looked over at Maka, he knew he had already made his decision a long time ago. He didn’t fear death, he had his own demons, and they were devoted to a girl who was devout to the Moon.

He opened his mouth wide as Tsubaki’s warning played on repeat and swallowed the Monk’s soul whole. He stood there a moment, feeling it slither down his throat. The texture was the same as always, and for a moment, he was overcome with this incredible realization that a sound soul was no different from the unrested.

Slowly, he crawled his way toward Maka. When he reached her, he pulled her shaking form into his, and she didn’t resist as he began to rock them gently, smoothing down her hair. “Shush, shush, it’s okay.” He cooed, “We’ll be okay.”

He pulled away from her slightly and pressed their palms together as if in prayer, and slowly, so, so slowly, spoke as he finally started to feel the effects of a sound soul course its way through his body. He had been wrong, mistaken. A sound soul was not the same as the unrested. The black blood consumed it with vigor, and he knew now his hunger would be satisfied with nothing less.

“I told you, didn’t I?” He said barely above a whisper, looking past the tears in her eyes, as he shifted his fingers, interlocking them with hers, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[feather97]

🌺

@soulxmakaweek

[flamedork]

wings

the hero and the fairy~

another peek into the flamakness collab! guess the au, my guys.

@mrsashketchum​ @l0chn3ss​

[nori-wings]

"Stop making fun of me! I know I can stay awake as late as you do!”

“Sure you can, sweetheart”

SoulxMaka Week 2019 | Day 1: 2 AM |

[soulmaka-doodle-weekly]

SoulxMaka Week 2019 Day 1: 2 AM

@soulxmakaweek A tired meister doesn’t quite get through the after-party before falling asleep on her weapon.

The pose was loosely traced from here!

[isa-arts]

◇ SoMa Week day 2: mirror◇ -Despite everything it's still you- or, patching up after a battle

[silluuuu]

In Plain Sight

Happy SoMa week friends!!! Here’s part 1 of a story that I couldn’t resist writing for the Complementary theme. Thank you oodles to @jaded-envy, @makapedia, @alliope and @piercelovewonton for the eyes <3

Summary: In a world where everything is black-and-white until you find your soulmate, one learns to navigate in shades of gray. When Soul, an agent tasked with recruiting operatives for the FBI’s tech division, gets a tip about Maka, a sharp-witted hacker flying under the radar, their story is bound to be a colorful one.

Rating: T for language, rampant invasions of digital privacy, vague references to animal abuse, and probably a lot of innuendos.

---

The summer heat is suffocating, even in black and white.

They’ve been cramped up here for hours, pamphlets scattered across the floor, tiles stark white in the fluorescent lights. It’s almost cruel, the irony of such a cold, unforgiving place completely devoid of air conditioning.

August heat in Washington D.C. is especially oppressive; humid and lingering, it’s the kind of heat that makes you feel like the devil himself is rising up from the concrete to greet you, hovering just out of reach.

Luckily, Maka Albarn loves the heat. And catching demons is what she does best.

“Gotcha,” comes a triumphant murmur from a corner of the room next to the window, where slanted light from the blinds mixes in with the fluorescents. A pair of eyes shines brightly behind a laptop screen, victoriously narrowed.

“You found ‘im?” A short-haired girl in another corner of the room almost jumps out of her chair with glee, bouncing around the fold-out table to gaze down at the screen.

“He’s in Silver Spring,” Maka murmurs, eyes scanning the page.

“Nice,” comes another voice, belonging to a woman in a cowboy hat and a satisfied smile. She pushes in her chair, already reaching for her purse.

“Liz,” Maka says, eyes narrowing. “You’re going now? Isn’t that kind of far for you?”

“Nah,” Liz says as she shuts her laptop with a snap. “That’s not too far from our place, actually. Right, Patty?”

Patty interrupts her excited bouncing to nod. “We’ll call Animal Control on the way over,” Patty adds helpfully, and Maka’s eyes narrow further.

“Like you did last time?” she says.

Liz’s face tries its very best to not slide into a grimace, and it earns a C+ for effort.

“We… handled it,” she says, drawing out the hand like she’d rather hand this conversation over to someone else which, incidentally, Patty takes her up on.

“And we couldn’t have done it without you!” She elbows Maka in the ribs, which is meant to be affectionate, but it still leaves Maka wincing. “Our Master Hacker-- hey, it’s true!” she continues before Maka can interject. “Best in the business!”

“If this were a business, you’d think we’d have more money,” Liz drawls as she grabs her sunglasses and perches them on her head. “You ready?”

“Yup!” Patty gives Maka a quick hug and follows Liz out the door, both of them waving their farewell.

“Be careful!” Maka calls after them. “And call me when you get home!”

“We will!” Patty yells from the other side of the open window, which is what she says every time, before she promptly and dependably forgets to call.

Read the rest on FFN | AO3 !! <3

[thiefofblood]

SoMa Week - Moon

only one i’m doing this year i’m sorry lads 😔

did this on stream past two weeks! find the vods here!

commissions | patreon

[snickiebear]

flashing steel in tender flesh (weapons of children, children of weapons)

rating: T

pairing: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans

SoMa Week, day 1

Summary:

They are Death’s hunting Dogs, laying souls at his feet and waiting for the praise. They are weapons, the steel in tender flesh, the scarred palms, the snarl and scowl. They are children. They are monsters, killers, bloodied.

(Soul and Maka, well, they reshaped the world with their bloodied, broken fingers. They took back everything that had been taken from them with greedy eyes and hissing words. They stand on shaking legs, hand in hand against the world, just as they always have.)

Or, snapshots of Soul and Maka in the same universe.

@soulxmakaweek

[thissiteistrashbuthereiam]

Day 2: Flowers

-----

The first time she found one, she was rather surprised. Soul wasn’t one for mushy things, especially not giving her flowers out of the blue. It was after one of his Death Scythe missions. He brought her back a book, telling her he thought she’d want to read it. When she finally decided to open it, a pressed flower fell from its pages. When she asked, he told her it was a morning glory and said nothing else.

The next time she found one, it had been in a book she was currently reading. She supposed he put it there while she was sleeping, but she wasn’t entirely sure. Tsubaki had recently come home from Japan, bringing flowers to keep herself thinking of home. Maka was sure this was one of the camellias she had brought back. When she asked, he told her he overheard her say she liked them and Tsubaki agreed to give him one. He said nothing else.

Finding the pressed flowers between pages of books became her favorite past time, but she would never tell Soul. She was sure he already knew, however, since more and more were appearing. She would always ask about them, not sure what she was hoping he’d say. Sometimes she would try guessing what the flowers were, other times she’d just ask. What she loved most was his little stories behind each one. He never spoke more than a sentence or two about them, simply telling her where he got them or how.

Now was different. They were stationed together in London to meet with the European division about new policies from Lord Death. Soul forced her to go sight seeing, claiming she needed to experience more than what Death City had to offer. “Live a little”’ he had said. He wasn’t necessarily wrong, she could use a change of scenery. They traveled a lot for work but they never really had time to stay and visit. This time they had plenty of time; their meeting had adjourned, they didn’t have any calls from Lord Death, and they had the next three days ahead of them. It was almost like a vacation.

The air was a little cold and the weather was rather dull, but Soul told her it was always like that. Sun was a rarity in England. He told her about the time he visited with his family for one of Wes's performances. The weather had been just as dreary then, too. They walked through the city stopping at the different attractions and visiting the local shops. Mostly, they walked through each one, simply admiring the different trinkets and bubbles. It wasn’t until they passed a flower boutique that anything really caught their eye.

Maka pulled Soul to a stop, admiring the lilies that were on display. The shopkeeper told her they were the heart of London and offered her one to which she politely declined. They continued their stroll through London, enjoying their break and the company the other provided. Soul returned to the booth the next day.

She found it when they returned home, stored away in her copy of Sugarplum Dead. When she asked, he told her he liked seeing her happy. The kiss that followed was languid but sweet. She told him the lily was her favorite and he inquired why.

“It’s my favorite shade of red.”

@soulxmakaweek

[soulxmakaweek]

SoMa Week 2023: Voting Round 1

Hello everyone, thank you for the wait!

We had a whopping 500+ themes submitted but have limited it down to 150 themes to vote from this year. Please make your way over to our google form (linked below) to vote for our second round choices. You may vote for as many as you’d like during round 1.

Vote here: https://forms.gle/pP1HNxJqRkdsvfjz8

Reminder:

Round 1: Feb 22 to Feb 25 Round 2: Feb 26 to Mar 1 Round 3: Mar 2 to Mar 4 Final Themes Announcement: March 5 SoMa Week 2023: April 23 to 29

Best of luck and may your favorite themes win!

[theeyeofthetigger]

Soma Week 2020 Day 6 - Wings

I've discovered I love drawing sheer sleeves

[feather97]

Magic ✨

@soulxmakaweek

[flamedork]

it’s a dangerous thing, but oh so lovely

❈ ART ❈

this is my first time writing any kind of a fic. but i really wanted to try something out of my comfort zone for this year’s soma week. i’m sorry it’s only one prompt! i really wanted to do the whole week, but life happens.

i hope you guys like it!

send some lovely words over to @sojustifiable and @l0chn3ss for being my writing wing-gals. but y’all can prise single quotation marks from my cold, dead australian hands.

twitter | instagram | patreon

@soulxmakaweek​

Day | Day 8 (Bonus) Prompt | Dangerous On the battlefield, they are lethal. 

Pre-kishin hesitate in their overwhelming presence. They exude an energy that ripples through the air. It pulses into enemies and drums hard against their souls. 

They don’t expect the rhythm that follows, the heavy beat of her boots, airy swipes, metallic twangs and quick sparks bouncing from gravel. The melody never lasts long. It only loops enough for it to seep under their skin and surge panic, before the cry of an angel rips through them with one final arc of her scythe.

Then the symphony comes to a close.

Snarls of thick, black ribbons shred its body. Limbs unravel and reveal the glowing core. Scaly and red. Echoes of the pre-kishin's last howl ricochet between the alleyway, but the sound is swallowed by the waves of the partners’ resonance.

Maka lands hard, vibrations buzz through her toes and up her legs. She takes a knee, muscles spasming, begging to rest.

Their harmony ebbs to a trickle of soft chords between her and her weapon.

The soul floats above her, bright scarlet bleeds onto the buildings around them. Satisfaction swells somewhere under her pounding heart — one less kishin egg threatening innocent souls. She wipes her chin, a rusty-coloured smear comes away; Maka notices the lack of a sting and sighs. She pushes hard against her knees to stand back up. 

From her hand, Soul transforms in a flash of blue and hooks his arm around her waist. She clutches the worn leather on his shoulder.

‘Another satisfied customer.’ The soul wobbles between his fingers, and he swallows it whole.

Maka huffs a small laugh.

x

The battle weighs her down, but she pushes forward. She leaves her arm linked with Soul’s — just in case. They make it back into the apartment with few fumbles and Soul leads her straight to their sofa. He disappears, leaving her to be swallowed by the cushions.

Adrenaline trickles from her veins and aches bloom over her body, bruises bud along her calves and thighs. Her shoulder flourishes; slight movements make her bite back a grimace. Her breath seeps out, slow and strong, in an attempt to calm herself. The battle seemed to be over in seconds. When had he gotten a hit in?

She shakes her head. The fight is over now.

She could fall asleep; she is well-rehearsed in after-battle care. Unbuckle boots, toe them off. Maka peels her blouse away from her shoulder; it’s heavy with sweat or blood — she’s not sure which — and halfheartedly tosses it to the floor.

She sighs a mournful goodbye to sleeping on her back.

Her skirt is torn, but it’s nothing a few stitches won’t repair. A problem for another day. So is the ever-growing pile of laundry by her feet.

Their apartment is chilly and she’s only left in her sports-crop and bike shorts. Somewhere beyond Soul’s tinkering and the kettle boiling, an oversized hoodie calls her name. Comfort seems so far away, she closes her eyes and dreams of it wistfully.

Legs of the coffee table drag across the floor; Soul pulls it close to Maka and sits on the corner. Focus sings through their resonance and reassurance flutters in Maka’s chest. She’s in good hands. Practised ones. There’s no panic. She’s obviously seen worse nights.

‘How are you doing?’ Soul dunks a washcloth into their only salad-bowl and wrings it out.

‘Okay,’ she nods.

He studies her face and must see honesty in the lush green of her eyes.

The washcloth lifts sweat and grime from her skin. Soul knows the routine as well as she does. He works on each of her wounds one by one, tender and precise. Slow tides of pain wash over and away again. Swells of taut muscles and soothing. He pays careful attention to the grazing on her knees and plasters scrapes in bandages. She stays quiet until he is finished.

Feeling oozes back into her; the sofa’s rough material itches her bare thighs and back. Soul takes the first-aid back to the kitchen and comes back with two steaming mugs. Fresh florals twist from her cup and curl around her. The hot ceramic stings her scuffed palms, but she holds it close and thanks him.

Soul sits on the couch beside her, ignoring his own mug, and pulls the elastics out of her hair, gently brushing the tangles away. It’s such a pleasant change from the angry bite of ointment and pressure against her new wounds, she sighs contently. Soft, fleecey material brushes the tips of her ears and nose, encasing her. The hoodie she longed for. She wishes it didn’t hurt to smile. Her hands don’t find the end of the sleeves.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘For getting hit.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

Soul is careful of her shoulder and pulls her to his chest. He rearranges the pillows against the sofa arm and leans against them. Maka follows and he swaddles her, thawing the last of the cold away. The subconscious weight of their fight subsides. Maka finds the spot of Soul’s neck her forehead curves into. His cheek cradles the top of her head.

Soul taps his fingers on her back to a song she can’t hear. Her eyelids win out.

Warmth swirls around the two humming souls.

Sunrise kisses their apartment, peaches and pinks soak the walls, but neither of them stir. Quiet morning drapes over them, no louder than their breathing.

The kishin egg really never stood a chance.

[soulmaka-doodle-weekly]

SoulxMaka Week 2019 Day 3: Stay

i’m really, profoundly frustrated with this picture. i can’t get the proportions right and just need it to be done for now.

pose from here