[Fic] Soul Eater: On the Subject of Parents
So, butterflycages and I had already begun our massive storming of the fandom here ... god, that sounds pretentious XDDD;. It's mostly a cracked Tegaki E dump + a spoilery 4koma though.
... I really should make a pimp post, but am more inclined as of late to just point people in the right direction. BE A MAN. Do the right thing.
(Also, I'm not abandoning Reborn! I... just need for either Hibari or Mukuro or Dino to show up again. Besides, I can totally multi-task between fandoms! GUESS WHO'S LOST HER MOTIVATION DURING THE HOME STRETCH?? OTL)
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Title: On the Subject of Parents
Series/Characters: [Soul Eater!] Maka & Papa DeathScythe, Kid & Shinigami, Black*Star & Tsubaki
Disclaimer: Soul Eater belongs to Ookubo Atsushi. Am only screwing around.
Word Count: 1,386
Notes: SPOT. First Soul Eater fic in the English fandom how sad is that? orz Um, here be CRACK and mostly gen...? With a James Bond reference for skirt-chasing!Papa’s benefit, more outlandish speculation on the other half of Kid's parentage (as if the 4koma wasn’t enough), and Black*Star theorizing on other people's parentage (read: how babies are made).
Honestly, this was mostly an exercise to get a feel of the characters but somehow in the process, I also got my crack-mojo back and it was AWESOME. 8Db I haven’t even settled on a pairing to ship yet, but for once that doesn’t matter. In fact, I think I could be persuaded to write for any pairing in fact (any and all the combinations crack me up for some reason). I think I kind of adore this series and it's infinite opportunities already. ♥
Crits, comments and edits would be lovely.
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On the Subject of Parents
by kasugai gummie
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[Don't always believe what you see]
“Maka, Maka look! Here we have Maka’s very first baby bath with Mr. Sharkie! And, oh, oh! This was when Maka was only three-years-old! Aah, you had the cutest little tufts of hair back then!”
“Are you trying to say something about my hair as it is now Papa?” Maka deadpanned, daring him to agree in all her pig-tailed glory. Like clockwork however, it wasn’t long before her father’s panicked and vehement declarations for the contrary began, and Maka judiciously redirected her attention back to the collection laid out in her lap.
There were worse ways to spend her afternoon, she decided, tracing a finger along the short edge of her fifth birthday. Asphyxiating amounts of Papa-colored euphoria aside, going through old photo albums with her wayward father wasn’t all that bad. Many of the photos, though somewhat aged and fading, had all three of them-Maka, Mama and Papa-together. Some of them even had Mama smiling next to Papa. Some of them even had Papa hugging Mama, even though Mama wasn’t tall, blonde and endowed like, like Blaire.
Maka slammed on the proverbial brakes.
“Papa.”
Her father paused in his pious bout about familial support just as abruptly. “Yes Maka?”
“... why was I being held by a strange woman in this picture? Better yet, why were you hugging her?”
Papa, somehow completely missing the condemning nature of the question, answered. “Hah? Strange woman?” he squinted at the photo in question and brightened. “Don’t be silly Maka-remember? That was our next-door neighbor Mrs. Honey Ryder! She came over every week after you learned how to walk. She even brought m-you cookies whenever she visited!” Papa beamed, as if the thousand-watt force of his smile could help his beloved daughter remember all those precious times they shared.
Maka didn’t say anything for a minute, however, ignoring (if not shunning) her father’s earnest attention with time-perfected ease. When she spoke again, it was to deadpan the five words guaranteed to shatter a man’s heart. “Papa really is the worst,” Maka said to the side, face turned away from her father’s frozen expression.
Somewhere, something shattered. “W-what?” Papa clutched at his chest as if experiencing an acute myocardial infarction. Maybe he was.
“She was married. With three children.”
Papa didn’t really have anything to say to that. Nothing to say at all, except for maybe a poignant reiteration of “But Papa really did love Mama and Maka best!”
Maka stared at him disbelieving. “You did?” she echoed.
“I mean do love! Still do! Present tense!!”
___________________________________________________________
[Babies, the old-fashioned way]
For the longest time, Kid never really did consider it odd that he had no mother. There were more important things to dedicate his attention to after all-making sure that the wall decor was not disturbed from their perfectly perpendicular arrangement to the ground; that the mantle’s centerpiece was in fact, exactly in the center; that each of his pillows were fluffed to the exact dimensions of fifty-by-thirty-by-five. The list of chores he had to attend to on a daily basis really didn’t leave him with much spare time to indulge in questions such as his parentage, and whatnot.
It wasn’t until some old acquaintance of his father came to visit with wife and child in tow that he developed even the remotest of interests towards the matter. Amusingly enough, all it took was a mutual dislike between himself and the visiting child’s heartless taunt of, “Oh yeah? Well your family’s asymmetrical.”
So, at the tender age of eleven (a nice, symmetrical number-almost as nice as eight), Death the Kid approached his father, armed with a child’s seriousness and the purpose to understand.
“Honorable Father,” he asked, “who is my mother?”
Shinigami stopped to consider his child, his successor. If the elder was surprised by such a straightforward (and arguably random) question, he certainly didn’t show it; instead he clapped his hands together, summoned up a chair, and sat Kid down with a flourish. “I’ve been preparing for that question for quite some time now, my boy!”
Kid blinked, but remained attentive. “Was she pretty? She must’ve been really symmetrical right?”
Death the Senior sighed dramatically at that, patting his son’s head with an oversized palm. “Alas, I’m afraid that’s not quite the case-”
“You mean she was asymmetrical?!” Kid shrank back in horror.
“-no. Rather, the truth is, you have no mother.”
“Oh god that explains everything and my disgusting self, I really am worthless aren’t I, I-what?”
Shinigami spread out his hands expansively, performing what might’ve been a shrug. “You were dropped down my chimney, barely nine-months-old-”
“Nine? Are you sure it was nine?” Kid demanded before completely registering the “dropping” of, and down a “chimney.”
“-by our mailman Larry.”
“You mean the stork?” Kid asked incredulously, standing up in one swift motion. “Honorable Father, are you telling me that a bird who works part-time at the post office is responsible for delivering me?”
“You aaand the user’s manual that came with you!” Shinigami beamed. “Though the instructions said nothing about having to feed you symmetric foods too-aah, it was so difficult having to figure that one out by myself while making sure the school stayed up and running you know.”
“....” And it’s a good thing that there was that conveniently placed chair behind him because the last thing Kid was aware of was his undignified swoon backwards (he’d have to coordinate his arms better, next time).
___________________________________________________________
[How to not apply genetics]
“Hey, Tsubaki...”
“Yes Black*Star?”
“Where do babies come from?” he asked earnestly, rocking forth on crossed legs-a picture of honest-to-god curiosity.
“I...”
The silence was deafening and awkward and Black*Star relished in his Weapon’s deer-in-headlight look before his self-control snapped in a series of hysterical guffaws.
“You should see yourself, Tsubaki!” he chortled, nearly doubled over. “The Great Me not knowing how babies are made? I should be insulted, but, oh god, my spleen!”
Tsubaki colored a little when it finally registered that Black*Star was, indeed, being a pretentious ass again. She breathed in deeply and exhaled just as slowly. “Black*Star...” she began, only to be interrupted almost immediately.
“I might’ve never had The Talk, but it’s not really hard to figure out you know.” The assassin pursed his lips and sat back. He pulled at the grass by his side. “It’s really interesting stuff if you think about it.”
Tsubaki blinked. “Interesting... stuff?” She affixed a smile on her face. The one that often meant, “I am confused and rightfully so, but you probably won’t clarify so I’ll just smile and pretend to be interested anyway.”
“Yeah! You know. Stuff.” Black*Star gestured vaguely with one hand. “Baby making stuff.”
Tsubaki willfully resisted the urge to bury hide her face.
“The Great Me has figured most of it out though!” Black*Star assured his un-assured companion.
“Did you really?”
“Indeed I did! So you here have the Great Me right? My parents were both humans with special abilities and together they made the Great Me!” Black*Star puffed out his chest and thumped it twice. Tsubaki clapped obligingly.
“And then!” He pointed dramatically at her, “you have you! Both of Tsubaki’s parents were weapons weren’t they?”
Her ponytail bobbed as she nodded, speechless.
“So Tsubaki is also a weapon! And that makes sense! But then you look at Maka’s Dad, who’s a Weapon, and her Mom who’s a Tech and somehow instead of being some super cool Tech-Weapon mutant hybrid, she’s just a Tech!”
Tsubaki wasn’t sure how their friend would react to being called “just a Tech.” She chose to not dwell on it.
“But then it occurred to the Great Me... what if it alternates between generations? That’d mean that there’s a possibility that if Soul and Maka were to get married, they might make little screwdrivers!” Black*Star gestured wildly to illustrate the possibilities.
Maybe it was the just idea of Black*Star theorizing on genetics; maybe it was the prospect of Black*Star playing matchmaker in the near future just to see if his theory was correct; maybe it was the little anatomically incorrect screwdrivers that were being traced in the air...
“Please-” Tsubaki buried her face, in her hands.
“I mean, you know the way they argue sometimes? Totally old, married couple material, yanno?”
“-stop.”
___________________________________________________________
Fin
Completed: April 20, 2008
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Aah... I think I need to make myself new icons again. orz
... I really should make a pimp post, but am more inclined as of late to just point people in the right direction. BE A MAN. Do the right thing.
(Also, I'm not abandoning Reborn! I... just need for either Hibari or Mukuro or Dino to show up again. Besides, I can totally multi-task between fandoms! GUESS WHO'S LOST HER MOTIVATION DURING THE HOME STRETCH?? OTL)
___________________________________________________________
Title: On the Subject of Parents
Series/Characters: [Soul Eater!] Maka & Papa DeathScythe, Kid & Shinigami, Black*Star & Tsubaki
Disclaimer: Soul Eater belongs to Ookubo Atsushi. Am only screwing around.
Word Count: 1,386
Notes: SPOT. First Soul Eater fic in the English fandom how sad is that? orz Um, here be CRACK and mostly gen...? With a James Bond reference for skirt-chasing!Papa’s benefit, more outlandish speculation on the other half of Kid's parentage (as if the 4koma wasn’t enough), and Black*Star theorizing on other people's parentage (read: how babies are made).
Honestly, this was mostly an exercise to get a feel of the characters but somehow in the process, I also got my crack-mojo back and it was AWESOME. 8Db I haven’t even settled on a pairing to ship yet, but for once that doesn’t matter. In fact, I think I could be persuaded to write for any pairing in fact (any and all the combinations crack me up for some reason). I think I kind of adore this series and it's infinite opportunities already. ♥
Crits, comments and edits would be lovely.
___________________________________________________________
On the Subject of Parents
by kasugai gummie
___________________________________________________________
[Don't always believe what you see]
“Maka, Maka look! Here we have Maka’s very first baby bath with Mr. Sharkie! And, oh, oh! This was when Maka was only three-years-old! Aah, you had the cutest little tufts of hair back then!”
“Are you trying to say something about my hair as it is now Papa?” Maka deadpanned, daring him to agree in all her pig-tailed glory. Like clockwork however, it wasn’t long before her father’s panicked and vehement declarations for the contrary began, and Maka judiciously redirected her attention back to the collection laid out in her lap.
There were worse ways to spend her afternoon, she decided, tracing a finger along the short edge of her fifth birthday. Asphyxiating amounts of Papa-colored euphoria aside, going through old photo albums with her wayward father wasn’t all that bad. Many of the photos, though somewhat aged and fading, had all three of them-Maka, Mama and Papa-together. Some of them even had Mama smiling next to Papa. Some of them even had Papa hugging Mama, even though Mama wasn’t tall, blonde and endowed like, like Blaire.
Maka slammed on the proverbial brakes.
“Papa.”
Her father paused in his pious bout about familial support just as abruptly. “Yes Maka?”
“... why was I being held by a strange woman in this picture? Better yet, why were you hugging her?”
Papa, somehow completely missing the condemning nature of the question, answered. “Hah? Strange woman?” he squinted at the photo in question and brightened. “Don’t be silly Maka-remember? That was our next-door neighbor Mrs. Honey Ryder! She came over every week after you learned how to walk. She even brought m-you cookies whenever she visited!” Papa beamed, as if the thousand-watt force of his smile could help his beloved daughter remember all those precious times they shared.
Maka didn’t say anything for a minute, however, ignoring (if not shunning) her father’s earnest attention with time-perfected ease. When she spoke again, it was to deadpan the five words guaranteed to shatter a man’s heart. “Papa really is the worst,” Maka said to the side, face turned away from her father’s frozen expression.
Somewhere, something shattered. “W-what?” Papa clutched at his chest as if experiencing an acute myocardial infarction. Maybe he was.
“She was married. With three children.”
Papa didn’t really have anything to say to that. Nothing to say at all, except for maybe a poignant reiteration of “But Papa really did love Mama and Maka best!”
Maka stared at him disbelieving. “You did?” she echoed.
“I mean do love! Still do! Present tense!!”
___________________________________________________________
[Babies, the old-fashioned way]
For the longest time, Kid never really did consider it odd that he had no mother. There were more important things to dedicate his attention to after all-making sure that the wall decor was not disturbed from their perfectly perpendicular arrangement to the ground; that the mantle’s centerpiece was in fact, exactly in the center; that each of his pillows were fluffed to the exact dimensions of fifty-by-thirty-by-five. The list of chores he had to attend to on a daily basis really didn’t leave him with much spare time to indulge in questions such as his parentage, and whatnot.
It wasn’t until some old acquaintance of his father came to visit with wife and child in tow that he developed even the remotest of interests towards the matter. Amusingly enough, all it took was a mutual dislike between himself and the visiting child’s heartless taunt of, “Oh yeah? Well your family’s asymmetrical.”
So, at the tender age of eleven (a nice, symmetrical number-almost as nice as eight), Death the Kid approached his father, armed with a child’s seriousness and the purpose to understand.
“Honorable Father,” he asked, “who is my mother?”
Shinigami stopped to consider his child, his successor. If the elder was surprised by such a straightforward (and arguably random) question, he certainly didn’t show it; instead he clapped his hands together, summoned up a chair, and sat Kid down with a flourish. “I’ve been preparing for that question for quite some time now, my boy!”
Kid blinked, but remained attentive. “Was she pretty? She must’ve been really symmetrical right?”
Death the Senior sighed dramatically at that, patting his son’s head with an oversized palm. “Alas, I’m afraid that’s not quite the case-”
“You mean she was asymmetrical?!” Kid shrank back in horror.
“-no. Rather, the truth is, you have no mother.”
“Oh god that explains everything and my disgusting self, I really am worthless aren’t I, I-what?”
Shinigami spread out his hands expansively, performing what might’ve been a shrug. “You were dropped down my chimney, barely nine-months-old-”
“Nine? Are you sure it was nine?” Kid demanded before completely registering the “dropping” of, and down a “chimney.”
“-by our mailman Larry.”
“You mean the stork?” Kid asked incredulously, standing up in one swift motion. “Honorable Father, are you telling me that a bird who works part-time at the post office is responsible for delivering me?”
“You aaand the user’s manual that came with you!” Shinigami beamed. “Though the instructions said nothing about having to feed you symmetric foods too-aah, it was so difficult having to figure that one out by myself while making sure the school stayed up and running you know.”
“....” And it’s a good thing that there was that conveniently placed chair behind him because the last thing Kid was aware of was his undignified swoon backwards (he’d have to coordinate his arms better, next time).
___________________________________________________________
[How to not apply genetics]
“Hey, Tsubaki...”
“Yes Black*Star?”
“Where do babies come from?” he asked earnestly, rocking forth on crossed legs-a picture of honest-to-god curiosity.
“I...”
The silence was deafening and awkward and Black*Star relished in his Weapon’s deer-in-headlight look before his self-control snapped in a series of hysterical guffaws.
“You should see yourself, Tsubaki!” he chortled, nearly doubled over. “The Great Me not knowing how babies are made? I should be insulted, but, oh god, my spleen!”
Tsubaki colored a little when it finally registered that Black*Star was, indeed, being a pretentious ass again. She breathed in deeply and exhaled just as slowly. “Black*Star...” she began, only to be interrupted almost immediately.
“I might’ve never had The Talk, but it’s not really hard to figure out you know.” The assassin pursed his lips and sat back. He pulled at the grass by his side. “It’s really interesting stuff if you think about it.”
Tsubaki blinked. “Interesting... stuff?” She affixed a smile on her face. The one that often meant, “I am confused and rightfully so, but you probably won’t clarify so I’ll just smile and pretend to be interested anyway.”
“Yeah! You know. Stuff.” Black*Star gestured vaguely with one hand. “Baby making stuff.”
Tsubaki willfully resisted the urge to bury hide her face.
“The Great Me has figured most of it out though!” Black*Star assured his un-assured companion.
“Did you really?”
“Indeed I did! So you here have the Great Me right? My parents were both humans with special abilities and together they made the Great Me!” Black*Star puffed out his chest and thumped it twice. Tsubaki clapped obligingly.
“And then!” He pointed dramatically at her, “you have you! Both of Tsubaki’s parents were weapons weren’t they?”
Her ponytail bobbed as she nodded, speechless.
“So Tsubaki is also a weapon! And that makes sense! But then you look at Maka’s Dad, who’s a Weapon, and her Mom who’s a Tech and somehow instead of being some super cool Tech-Weapon mutant hybrid, she’s just a Tech!”
Tsubaki wasn’t sure how their friend would react to being called “just a Tech.” She chose to not dwell on it.
“But then it occurred to the Great Me... what if it alternates between generations? That’d mean that there’s a possibility that if Soul and Maka were to get married, they might make little screwdrivers!” Black*Star gestured wildly to illustrate the possibilities.
Maybe it was the just idea of Black*Star theorizing on genetics; maybe it was the prospect of Black*Star playing matchmaker in the near future just to see if his theory was correct; maybe it was the little anatomically incorrect screwdrivers that were being traced in the air...
“Please-” Tsubaki buried her face, in her hands.
“I mean, you know the way they argue sometimes? Totally old, married couple material, yanno?”
“-stop.”
___________________________________________________________
Fin
Completed: April 20, 2008
___________________________________________________________
Aah... I think I need to make myself new icons again. orz