[fanfic] Resonating Across the Universe
Title: Resonating Across the Universe
Author: legare_virtuoso
Rating: G
Warnings: Philosophical drivel.
Prompt: VI - 26. Tsubaki (Soul Eater)/Yamamoto, training; "swords and demons"
Word count: 536
Summary: They’re two halves of the same soul, and without the other they are only a sword and a demon.
Author Notes: Shortest prompt fill I’ve ever written. But crossovers are hard like that.
There’s something about sword fighting that makes women go misty eyed and men hitch up their pants, a little bit of romance that taints the very act with some primitive sort of pride. The sword itself is beyond this, jaded by the spark of steel to steel and the kiss of battle that steals away the life of everything around it, and to those who dance with death are left the dreams of better things. There are even those who dance who choose instead to twist and pull at the strings of fate and orchestrate their own demise as they see fit. No single member in the mix is ever the same as another, and each path is fraught with chooses and strife.
She sings acapella from a shadowed corner of her wielder’s and waits until she can join the dance again.
The blood on the blade belongs to a shark and mingles with her bearer’s, stains her edge with crimson and jars the melody of memory in a shower of blood-red camellia petals. He is falling and she is calling, and somewhere in the mix they blend and begin to resonate.
Shigure Kintoki was once called a demon blade, sister to Masamune and capable of twelve varieties of blade borne death.
He reaches for four blades and finds only one, razor sharp edges and metal that reflects a smile calm as rain. She is the shower in late autumn, the golden moment fey blade, and in his heart he calls for the Shigure Kintoki Yoto with a conviction that grips her soul. They remember, the drops of rain that bleed from the blade like tears of despair and agony, and she cries without sound for the sins she bears.
The blade flows from the first form to the eighth, shatters at the ninth and sinks tendrils of darkness into his soul in a lover’s embrace.
Shadows dance and they smile with grim death, hand in hand as they spiral towards perfection in motion. For a moment they are one and the shark screams defiance at their glory, Spartoi and Vongola performing an impromptu concerto that shatters the limits of time and space. Tempos ebb and flow between white-edged darkness and blue flames form a kata built on the legacies of Shigure Soen and Shadow Star, and they know that a feeling like this will never come again. It is a short synchronization that drops him to the ground and sends her spinning out of his reach, a home tutor across the clearing with a smirk on his face and a plan in his shout.
Fingers clasp and eyes lock, smiles traded between a boy and a girl who are two halves of the same ideal. One is a demon and the other is a blade, but the blade is the real demon and the demon is the real blade, and they can’t find the difference between themselves to pull themselves apart. He is not hers to keep and she is not his to use and they know it. She fades from time and space with a returned bow, and she is glad to have had the chance.
“Haha… I guess I have to train more.”
Author: legare_virtuoso
Rating: G
Warnings: Philosophical drivel.
Prompt: VI - 26. Tsubaki (Soul Eater)/Yamamoto, training; "swords and demons"
Word count: 536
Summary: They’re two halves of the same soul, and without the other they are only a sword and a demon.
Author Notes: Shortest prompt fill I’ve ever written. But crossovers are hard like that.
There’s something about sword fighting that makes women go misty eyed and men hitch up their pants, a little bit of romance that taints the very act with some primitive sort of pride. The sword itself is beyond this, jaded by the spark of steel to steel and the kiss of battle that steals away the life of everything around it, and to those who dance with death are left the dreams of better things. There are even those who dance who choose instead to twist and pull at the strings of fate and orchestrate their own demise as they see fit. No single member in the mix is ever the same as another, and each path is fraught with chooses and strife.
She sings acapella from a shadowed corner of her wielder’s and waits until she can join the dance again.
The blood on the blade belongs to a shark and mingles with her bearer’s, stains her edge with crimson and jars the melody of memory in a shower of blood-red camellia petals. He is falling and she is calling, and somewhere in the mix they blend and begin to resonate.
Shigure Kintoki was once called a demon blade, sister to Masamune and capable of twelve varieties of blade borne death.
He reaches for four blades and finds only one, razor sharp edges and metal that reflects a smile calm as rain. She is the shower in late autumn, the golden moment fey blade, and in his heart he calls for the Shigure Kintoki Yoto with a conviction that grips her soul. They remember, the drops of rain that bleed from the blade like tears of despair and agony, and she cries without sound for the sins she bears.
The blade flows from the first form to the eighth, shatters at the ninth and sinks tendrils of darkness into his soul in a lover’s embrace.
Shadows dance and they smile with grim death, hand in hand as they spiral towards perfection in motion. For a moment they are one and the shark screams defiance at their glory, Spartoi and Vongola performing an impromptu concerto that shatters the limits of time and space. Tempos ebb and flow between white-edged darkness and blue flames form a kata built on the legacies of Shigure Soen and Shadow Star, and they know that a feeling like this will never come again. It is a short synchronization that drops him to the ground and sends her spinning out of his reach, a home tutor across the clearing with a smirk on his face and a plan in his shout.
Fingers clasp and eyes lock, smiles traded between a boy and a girl who are two halves of the same ideal. One is a demon and the other is a blade, but the blade is the real demon and the demon is the real blade, and they can’t find the difference between themselves to pull themselves apart. He is not hers to keep and she is not his to use and they know it. She fades from time and space with a returned bow, and she is glad to have had the chance.
“Haha… I guess I have to train more.”